


It Seems Like Years...

by EssieFreds



Series: The 'It Gets Worse!' Universe (Earth-293156) [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), F/M, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Peter Parker in Love, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, no beta we implode like asgard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssieFreds/pseuds/EssieFreds
Summary: Peter Parker has made up his mind: He wants to be a husband, a father. He wants to start his own business. He wants to complete his master's and doctorate degrees. He wants to do all of these things, while somehow maintaining his work as Spider-Man.He should have learned from Tony by now that juggling all that stuff very rarely works out.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Ned Leeds & Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s), Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: The 'It Gets Worse!' Universe (Earth-293156) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1417432
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. December, 2024 and January, 2025

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the "It Gets Worse!" Universe, or Earth-293156. It is highly recommended that you read all of the works prior to this one, in order to fully understand the story, and set relationships.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome! Most everyone who responded to that Google Form I made asking what they wanted to see next said that they wanted a continuation of the story from Cheri and Peter's perspective, and so... here we are. 
> 
> It's also October 12th, 2020, which, in this universe, is the day that Peter and Cheri meet for the first time. I love that.
> 
> And it's technically this universe's Harry Osborn's 20th birthday!

**December 25th, 2024 -** **225 Schermerhorn St, Brooklyn, New York, USA - 2:21 PM**

“Thanks, Yaya,” Cheri said, smiling at her grandmother from over the present that she’d just been handed. Abuela waved her hand dismissively. 

“It’s for you and the boy,” she said, and she winked good naturedly at Peter, who grinned back, and turned eagerly to the present in Cheri’s hands. 

Cheri pulled the red and green paper free from the package, unearthing the box beneath it. It was nondescript, plain brown. Intrigued, Cheri tugged at the tape holding it closed, and opened it. Reaching in, she pulled out the tinier box on the inside. It was the perfect size for a gift card. 

“Oh, is it what I think it is?” Peter asked hopefully. Cheri took the lid off the box, and grinned, flashing the $200 Visa gift card at Peter. He pumped his fist into the air. “Yes! Thank you, Abuela! We’re getting a mattress!” 

Cheri giggled, and put the gift card back into its box. They desperately needed a new mattress, and those 200 dollars would go a long, long way towards paying for one. “Thank you,” she said to her grandmother, again, and Abuela blew her a kiss. 

Cheri and Peter had been trying to make plans to find a new place to live, amidst planning their wedding, which was set to happen in February. Cheri had also been working hard to make it through her first semester as a middle school music teacher, while Peter had been juggling work for his master’s degree and Spider-Man duties. There was a new crime boss on the street, some guy named Tombstone, he’d told her. Cheri didn’t like the sound of him at all, and apparently, he was just as evasive as Fisk and Co. had been for so long, considering he’d made his first appearance in July, and they still hadn’t managed to catch him. 

On top of that, crime rates in the city had, obviously, escalated, thanks to him. Peter was gone most nights, now. Cheri was hoping that he wouldn’t burn himself out again; that was the last thing they needed. 

Maybe, with the promise of a new mattress at home, he’d be more inclined to sleep, rather than worry about what was going on outside the apartment they shared with Ned and Harry. 

Speaking of Ned and Harry, their two friends were _not_ happy that they were planning on moving out. Over the past few weeks, there’d been subtle, and not-so-subtle, attempts by the both of them to try and convince Cheri and Peter to stay. Ned had pointed out that, the minute Cheri left, he and Harry would go back to eating either take out or mac ‘n’ cheese every night. Harry had been a little more obvious about his desire for them to stay, in the sense that he’d hidden the deposit money that Cheri and Peter had already stashed away to save for when they found the right place. He had yet to tell them where he’d put it. 

“All right,” Cheri’s mother said, pulling Cheri out of her thoughts. Isabel smiled and passed over another present. “This one’s just for Cheri. Peter, yours is in the closet. I have to go get it.”

“What -” He couldn’t finish the question, because Isabel had already stood up and walked off. He looked at Cheri, an eyebrow raised. “In the closet?” 

She shook her head in response, indicating that she had no idea what her mother had chosen to buy for him. She’d said that he might like some sort of electronic, although what kind, she had no idea. Something he could take apart and turn into something else, maybe. 

She tore into Isabel’s gift for her in the meantime, only partially aware of the amused look Abuela was exchanging with Peter’s aunt May, while Peter frowned at them both. Cheri unwrapped a box with a four-slice toaster on it. She opened that as well, certain that the box was disguising something else, but found nothing aside from the toaster itself. She blinked down at it. “What?” 

“Is it actually a toaster?” Peter asked in surprise, and Cheri nodded, frowning a little. “Huh.”

Isabel returned, lugging along a heavy looking package behind her. Peter quickly jumped up and took it from her, carrying it to where Cheri still sat on the floor, toaster box in her lap. 

“Do you like it?” Isabel asked her, reclaiming her seat on the couch next to May. 

“I - I guess I’m just confused,” she admitted. “We have a toaster already, at the apartment.”

“A vacuum cleaner,” Peter announced, pulling away the last of the wrapping paper that had been around the large present. “Thanks, Isabel. I - vacuum cleaners are great, and I guess we have had the one at the apartment for years.”

Cheri shot her mother a look, which Isabel pointedly ignored. 

“My presents next,” May announced, leaning across the coffee table and handing them both small packages. Cheri’s contained a gift card for JCPenney’s, and Peter’s held one for Home Depot. They exchanged confused glances. 

“Thanks, May,” Cheri said first. “Thanks, all three of you. They’re… they’re all unique presents, definitely.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking down at the gift card in his hand. “Unique.”

There was a knock at the front door, then, and Isabel immediately jumped up to answer it. Cheri looked around. “Who could that be?” she asked Peter, who lifted his shoulders.

“Ho ho ho!” Cheri and Peter both turned towards the door, and Cheri burst into amused giggles at the sight of Tony Stark dressed in a Santa Claus costume, giant black boots and all. He lacked a large sack filled with presents, but he did carry a tiny box in one hand. His eyes glittered beneath eyebrows that had apparently been spray painted white. Cheri wondered briefly who’d been given the honor of doing that, and wouldn’t be surprised to learn later on that it had been Stephen Strange, who’d done so with a childish glee. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Tony said, tugging down the fake beard that he wore, spitting out some hairs. “Traffic was terrible. I’ll never understand why so many people are _out_ on _Christmas.”_

“I think you’re just in time, to put these two out of their confused misery,” May said, smiling at Cheri and Peter. 

“Confused misery?” Cheri asked, frowning, at the same time Peter said, “No, no, the presents are great, really!” 

Tony and Isabel exchanged a meaningful look, before Tony held out the box he held. A tag dangled off of it, addressed to both Cheri and Peter. “You open it, Peanuts,” Tony suggested. 

“Uh… okay,” Cheri said, and she slowly leaned up and took the box from him. Settling back down, she held the box carefully in both hands. She looked up at Peter, who lifted one shoulder, looking just as confused as she felt. Cheri sucked in a breath, and pulled the lid off the box. 

Inside, nestled in green tissue paper, was a keyring, with two keys hanging from it. They matched. Cheri pulled the keys out of the box, holding them up in one hand. She glanced between them, Peter, and Tony and Isabel, frowning again. 

“What’s…?”

“Oh,” Peter said, eyes going wide. He mouthed wordlessly for a moment, gaping at the two adults, who were beaming. “You _didn’t.”_

“Didn’t what?” Cheri asked, growing a little annoyed. “What are these for?” 

Peter let out a laugh, and moved closer to Cheri. He slid his arm around her shoulders. “Think about it,” he said, speaking quietly. 

Cheri did, considering the presents that they’d been given. The dots started to connect, puzzle pieces fell into place. Her own eyes went wide. “Holy _shit.”_

“Cheryl,” Abuela said, but there was no bite to the name. The old lady was smiling, even, content as could be. 

“Did you - I mean… you couldn’t have!” Cheri exclaimed, jumping to her feet, with Peter following close behind. 

“Why not?” Tony asked, lifting his shoulders casually. “It’s just an apartment.”

“In the city?” 

“In the city,” Isabel confirmed, still smiling. “Cheri told me where you’ve been looking, Peter, and I mentioned it to Tony.”

“Completely paid for,” Tony put in. “Two bedrooms, one with an en-suite, lovely view. The kitchen’s separate from the living room, which, y’know, might not be choice, but I think it’s big enough for you to work with.” He winked at Cheri, who was finding it very hard to breathe, let alone speak. 

“How much?” she finally managed. 

Tony shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Cheri, it’s a Christmas present,” Tony told her. “Maybe yours to me can be you _not_ asking how much my present for you and Peter was.” He nodded to the keys. “420 E. 51st. Very close to Stark Tower. It’s a great location.” 

“And it’s close to your school, too,” Isabel added, looking at Cheri. “We made sure of that.”

“Máma -” Cheri began, but Isabel waved her hand. 

“You can’t live with Ned and Harry once you get married,” she said. “And, honestly, we kind of suspected that if we didn’t give you some sort of push, you would never pick a place.” 

“So, consider this your push,” Tony concluded. He huffed. “Am I allowed to take this jacket off, now? It’s very hot.”

While Isabel and May both helped Tony pull the coat off, Cheri and Peter looked at one another. After a moment, Peter turned back to the others. 

“When - when can we move in?” he asked. 

“Oh, we’re having some renovations done on the kitchen, first,” Tony said, “and the carpet in the front room _had_ to be pulled up. It was green and… gross. Hardwood floors are going in instead, but it should all be done before February.” 

Cheri knew that she should be asking more questions, maybe be putting her own input into design choices of what would be her home, but she was still too shocked to actually articulate much. Tony had bought her and Peter an _apartment._ Literally a home for them to live in, together, alone, for the first time in over two years of being together. She couldn’t believe it. 

Her eyes landed on the toaster her mother had gotten her, and she suddenly couldn’t suppress a bubble of laughter that pushed its way up out of her chest. She cupped her hand over her mouth, giggling helplessly into it, the keyring hanging limply from the fingers of her other hand. 

Peter moved over to her. “You need to go outside for a second?” he asked, and Cheri managed a nod, still laughing. “All right, c’mon.” He apologized to the adults as he shuffled Cheri past them and out of the apartment. They all watched the two of them go, and smiled at each other once they were gone. 

“About what you expected?” Tony asked Isabel, who nodded. 

“She handled it better than I thought, actually,” she admitted. “I figured she’d burst into tears, although I don’t know how much better the hysterical laughter is.”

“I’d definitely rather deal with laughter than tears,” Tony said.

“Anyways, drink?” Isabel asked. 

“Yes, please.” He turned away as Isabel moved behind the counter in the kitchen, smiling at May. “May, you look lovely, as always.”

“Thank you, Tony,” May said, smiling back. “Glad you finally came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Tony replied. He looked past her towards Abuela. “Maria, good to see you.”

“Stark,” Abuela replied, dryly. “Wish I could say the same.”

“Mm, she’ll never like me,” Tony said to May, and he turned to take the glass Isabel offered him. “Thank you.” He took a drink of it, expecting whiskey, but found himself drinking water instead. He frowned down at the glass, and then at Isabel, who merely smiled. 

“You think you’re having alcohol in my home three months after you had a heart attack?” she queried, and Tony snorted.

“So, this is where Cheri gets it,” he mumbled into his drink. 

**January 25th, 2025 - 71 2nd Ave., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 1:04 PM**

“God,” Ned huffed, running his arm across his forehead. “How could the two of you fit so much stuff into that one room?” 

Peter smiled in response, setting down the last of the boxes on the sidewalk outside of the apartment building. A couple of the mover men that he and Cheri had hired with their deposit money picked up both it, and the one Ned had carried down, taking both over to the truck. Harry had forked over the money (which he’d hidden under his bed frame) when they’d told him that Tony had bought them an apartment for Christmas, looking crestfallen. Apparently, he’d known then that there was no hope in them staying. 

“It isn’t that much,” Cheri said, joining them. Peter wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her temple, while Cheri leaned into him, looking at Ned, a crease between her brow. “Thanks for helping, Ned.” 

“Sure,” Ned said with a small shrug. “I think I got over it quicker than Harry did.” He glanced up towards the window of their apartment, frowning a little. “I don’t think he’s ever over it yet, to be honest.” 

Peter followed his gaze, and saw a brief glimpse of Harry peering out from the window, before he disappeared. Peter sighed, quietly. 

“I should go talk to him,” he said. 

“We both should,” Cheri agreed. She turned towards the moving men. “We’ll follow you over there in a few minutes.” 

“Sure,” one of them responded, while his coworker shifted around some of the boxes and furniture inside the truck. 

Peter slid his hand down to take Cheri’s, and led the way back into the apartment building, Ned following behind the two of them. 

They went upstairs, and opened the front door of the apartment. Harry was sitting n the couch, looking for all the world that nothing particularly interesting was going on. He glanced over at them when the door opened. 

“Oh,” he began, and looked back down at the magazine he held. “Figured you’d be on your way, now that everything’s cleared out.”

“Harry -” Cheri began, but Peter set a hand on her arm, silently asking her to let him talk. She glanced at him, frowning a little, but stayed quiet, crossing her arms. 

Peter approached the couch. “Hey,” he said, and Harry raised his eyebrows, but did not look up from the magazine. Peter exhaled. “Harry, we’re not disappearing off the face of the earth. You know that.”

“You’re moving out,” Harry replied. “What’s the difference?” 

“The difference is that we’ll still probably be here all the time,” Peter answered, moving around the couch to sit down beside him. “I’m getting my master’s, so I’ll be on campus, anyway. It isn’t as though you’re never going to see us again.”

Harry sniffed, and Peter reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“You must’ve guessed that this was going to happen someday,” he went on. “Right? I mean, didn’t you have some prediction about where our relationship would go? That we’d get married, want to start a family? You couldn’t have thought we could do that while living here.”

Harry closed his eyes for a second, before he blew out a breath, and set his magazine off to the side. “Of course I knew you two were going to get married someday, have kids,” he said. “And logistically I knew that you wouldn’t want to do that here.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it’d be happening so soon, and I - I don’t know. Maybe I hoped that Ned and I would be… more involved.’

Peter grinned. “How much more involved do you want to be?” he asked, lightly. “You want to be a midwife when Cheri has a baby?” 

“Well, no,” Harry answered, and Peter was relieved that there was a small quirk to the corner of his mouth, “but I at least hoped that we’d be able to help change diapers and stuff.” 

Peter’s own smile softened, and he squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Just because we’re not going to be living here doesn’t mean you won’t be able to do that,” he assured, exchanging an amused look with Cheri, who approached the back of the couch, and put her arms around Harry’s neck, leaning her head against his. 

“We love you, you idiot,” she told him, and glanced back at Ned. _“Both_ of you.” She pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s head. “You’re going to hate how often you see the two of us, once we’re gone. I guarantee it.” 

“Not possible,” Harry murmured, reaching up to grip one of her arms. He looked over at Peter, smiled again. “I love you guys, too.”

“And me!” Ned said, and he threw himself into the pile, tossing his arms around all three of them, somehow. 

After a long moment, Harry blew out a breath. “I’ve suddenly decided that I hate all three of you,” he announced. “Get the hell off of me.” 

Everyone laughed, and Peter stood up again, Harry following his lead. He and Ned trailed after Peter and Cheri to the front door, where all four of them paused, Cheri reaching to take her Honda’s keys off of the rack hanging on the wall. 

“Well,” she started, looking between Ned and Harry. “I guess… we’ll see you guys,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s do dinner tomorrow night,” Ned suggested, and then he smiled a little. “At your place.” 

Cheri mirrored the grin. “Sounds good,” she agreed, and then she hugged him, before turning to Harry. “No mac ‘n’ cheese.”

“But it’s the only thing I know how to cook,” Harry complained, although he was smiling. Peter watched him reach out and tug Cheri to him, into a tight hug. His friend inhaled, and pressed his face briefly into the curls on the top of her head. 

“I love you,” he whispered to her. 

“I love you too,” she replied, just as softly. 

Ned looked at Peter, and Peter chuckled, reaching out to pull Ned into a hug. 

“Oh yeah,” Ned said. “This is manly. I’ve never felt tougher.”

“You’re ruining the moment,” Harry informed him. 

“Sorry,” Ned apologized. 

With that, though, the moment had passed, and the four of them broke out of their hugs. Peter glanced between his two friends for a second, before huffing, and pulling them both in for one final hug. 

“God, you’re the biggest sap -”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ned scolded, squeezing one arm tightly around Peter’s shoulders. 

“Okay,” Cheri said, after a moment. “We really should go, now.” She leaned in to press a kiss to Ned’s cheek, and then slid her hand into Peter’s. “Dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Ned agreed, rubbing his hand against his cheek, smiling a bit.

“Good,” Cheri said. She tugged lightly on Peter’s hand. “C’mon.”

Peter nodded in agreement, and let her lead him out of the apartment, and down the hall. When he glanced back, just before they started down the stairs, he saw both Harry and Ned standing in the open doorway, looking after the two of them. Peter lifted his free hand in a wave goodbye, and his friends responded in kind. 

Peter followed Cheri down the stairs, and then back out onto the street, where they paused for another moment, and looked up at the building. 

“We didn’t really start here,” Cheri began, “but it is hard to leave it behind.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, and then he looked at her, smiling a bit to himself. “But, y’know, it isn’t the actual apartment that’s home. Not for me.”

Cheri grinned back at him. “You _are_ a sap,” she teased, and leaned up to kiss him, before settling back down. “Let’s go to our new place, hm?” 

“Okay,” Peter agreed, and followed her towards the Honda, which was also packed with boxes, ones that contained the more personal things. “Hey, do you think it still smells weird?”

“No,” Cheri replied, settling into the car behind the wheel. “I’m sure the smell went away, once the renovations were over.”

Peter hoped so. 

**420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 4:23 PM**

Peter collapsed onto the couch that he’d pushed into the correct position in the new apartment’s living room. He looked around, examining all of the things that they still needed to move, and unpack, and he groaned, covering his face with his hands. 

He heard Cheri moving around in their master bedroom, unpacking clothes to put up in the closet. He knew that he could probably join her and help, but she’d told him to figure out the front room. He’d decided to take a break, however, considering how much furniture and how many boxes he and the moving guys had carried into the building. Now came the unpacking, and honestly, Peter wasn’t exactly in the mood for that.

“Peter!” Cheri called from the bedroom, and then she appeared from the hallway it was down. She held a pile of clothing in her arms. Peter sat up a bit, so that he could see her better. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“I don’t know where the hell all our hangars went,” Cheri replied, sounding flustered. “I know we packed them.” 

Peter looked around at the numerous boxes that littered the front room of the apartment. None of them were marked “hangars.”

“Maybe we left them in the car?” he suggested. “Did we put them in a bag or something? They might’ve gotten trapped under a seat.”

Cheri sighed. “I guess I can go look,” she said. “I really don't want to have to go down the stairs again. Or climb up them.”

“So use the elevator,” Peter said, and she made a face. 

“You know I don’t trust any elevator aside from the one at the Compound,” she told him. 

Peter groaned, wearily, but all the same hauled himself up and over the back of the couch. Cheri frowned at him the whole time. 

“You do that every time,” she started, “and that couch is going to break before we’ve even lived here six months.”

“Right, sorry,” Peter said, standing up straight. “Habit” 

Cheri’s frown wavered only slightly. “Still,” she said, and Peter put up his hands. 

“I won’t climb over the back of the couch,” he said. “Where’re the keys?” 

“On the rack by the door,” Cheri answered, gesturing with one arm as she adjusted her grip on the clothes. “I guess if we can’t find them, we’ll just have to buy some.” She shook her head, and turned, walking back towards the bedroom. “I just don’t know how we could lose the hangars, but not the clothes.” 

“I’d rather it be this way than the other way around,” Peter called after her, and headed for the front door, grabbing her car keys as he went. It was hard to think that, in a little over a week, they’d be married. 

He didn’t really think anything would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How likely is it that Tony actually bought an entire apartment for Cheri and Peter for Christmas?
> 
> Very, I think. The man knows no limits when it comes to doing things for the people he loves.
> 
> Also, I want to add that this story is nowhere near being completed, and probably won't be for quiet some time (considering things outside of fanfiction writing that are happening in my life), so please don't be looking for scheduled postings or what-have-you. I mostly just wanted to get this first chapter up today, because it's October 12th, 2020. 
> 
> I realize that this makes me odd.


	2. February, 2025

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's getting married.

**February 1st, 2025 - 71 2nd Ave., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 9:31 PM**

“I still don’t think this is necessary,” Peter grumbled, letting Bruce put a plastic crown on his head all the same. 

“Sure it is!” Ned called from the kitchen, where he was busy doing the dishes from dinner, which might have been the only time Peter had ever seen _Ned_ do dishes. “You only get one bachelor party!” 

“Unless you get married more than once,” Tony said, “but I feel like there’s something special about the first one, y’know?” 

Peter sighed, and looked down at his watch. He was spending the night at Ned and Harry’s apartment, since he and Cheri, per _tradition_ according to both May and Isabel, weren’t supposed to see one another the night before the wedding. Cheri was currently at their apartment with Harry and Megan, and probably having a better time, since Peter doubted they were putting her through anything too embarrassing. 

Like forcing her to wear a crown that said _King of the Castle_ on it. Which was what the one Peter now had on his own head said. 

Harry had been around earlier, but had left after dinner, saying his party loyalties lay with the bride, since he was the Man of Honor. Ned, being the best man, had been in charge of directing Peter’s own party, which thus far had included food, and a pretty raucous game of Twister that had ended in Tony needing an ice pack applied to his lower back. 

So, really, it was going great. 

Currently, Tony was still laying on his stomach across two cushions of the couch, with the slowly melting ice pack creating a wet spot on the polo shirt he was wearing. He'd had his head resting on his arms, but he now reached over and poked Peter on the knee. 

“What?” Peter asked him. 

“Will you get me cake?” Tony queried, sounding very polite, as though he were worried that Peter would say no. “Please?” 

“No,” Peter said, all the same, and Tony let out a sound that clearly expressed his feelings of betrayal. Peter shook his head. “Sorry, but Stephen made me swear not to let you eat too much sugar, and you’ve already had two bags of M&Ms.” 

“Objection!” Tony exclaimed, and then winced, as he sat up to add _oomph_ to the interjection, tweaking his back injury. “I did not eat all those M&Ms on my own.” He pointed an accusatory finger in Bruce’s direction. “He helped.”

“I don’t eat sugar,” Bruce replied evenly, sinking down in the spare chair that they’d pulled into the living room, so there’d be enough seats for everyone. 

“You’re a fuckin’ liar,” Tony grumbled. 

“Stop fighting, children,” Ned said, lightly, walking into the room with two plates of cake. He handed one to Peter, and then the other to Steve, who’d been sitting quietly since the game of Twister had ended. “I’ll put you in the time-out corner.” 

“What’s the time-out corner?” Bruce asked, an eyebrow raised, and Ned jerked his thumb over his shoulder to a corner of the front room, near the window. 

“That,” he said. “You’ll sit there and think about what got you there in the first place, while the rest of us continue with our bachelor party festivities.” He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, tugging over the karaoke machine. “Peter! You’re singing the first song.”

“I never agreed to that,” Peter said at once. 

“Someone has to, and this is your party,” Ned pointed out. 

“Well, that should just mean that I get to choose who sings first,” Peter argued. He noticed the expression on Steve’s face, at the prospect of having to sing at all, and grinned a bit. “I think it should be Cap.”

“I don’t sing,” Steve said immediately. 

“You do tonight!” Ned said, apparently very into the idea of Captain American singing karaoke. He held out the microphone attached to the machine to him. “You can pick the song.” 

“I would like to hear Captain American sing _Country Roads_ by John Denver, please and thank you,” Tony put in, turning his head so that he could see the TV. “Only then will I be able to die happily.”

Bruce frowned at him. “There’s plenty of time for that,” he said. “Steve can sing whatever he wants.”

Steve looked as though he didn’t want to sing anything. Peter was, thus, very excited to hear his selection. 

“I don’t really know any songs,” he said, after a moment, during which Ned had connected his phone to the machine, so that the music would be heard through the speakers. 

“You have to know at least one,” Ned said. “C’mon, Cap.”

Steve exhaled a very weary sigh. “Fine,” he said. “Can I…” He pursed his lips, and Tony reached over to nudge him. 

“Use your words,” he said, clearly amused. 

Steve hung his head. “I’ll sing an Elton John song,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed, and Peter understood why almost immediately. 

So did the rest of the men. 

“You _gotta be kidding,"_ Ned said, sounding as though he’d never heard better news in his entire life. 

“Is it because of…?” Bruce asked, lifting a hand to his mouth to cover his smile, and Steve nodded, ashamed. 

“That is _fantastic,”_ Tony said. “Our boy Captain America became an Elton John fan because of our D&D campaign!” 

“It wasn’t just that,” Steve said, as an attempt to defend himself.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Peter said, still grinning. He hoped that Cheri was having as good a time at her party as he was suddenly having at his own.

* * *

“IT’S ON FIRE!” Harry exclaimed, and he threw the towel he’d been holding onto the frozen pizza that he’d just pulled from the oven, as Megan yelped from where she stood behind him. 

Cheri cradled her face in her hands, giggling helplessly, while her mother ran into the kitchen to help her two friends with the on-fire pizza. She wouldn’t be laughing about a fire, normally, but she was four shots of whisky into her bachelorette party, and so everything was funny, currently. 

Especially the penis-shaped decorations that had been hung up all over her apartment. _Those_ were fucking hilarious. 

She mostly couldn’t get over the fact that Megan had, somehow, found an ice cube tray that produced penis-shaped ice cubes. 

Her mother didn’t think it was all as funny as Cheri did. May, however, was very appreciative of the phallic humor. 

“It’s much better than the baby-shaped stuff that shows up at baby showers,” she said, holding her vodka cranberry in both hands. 

“Baby-shaped ice cubes?” Cheri asked, wiping at her eyes, and May nodded. “Horrifying.”

“It really is,” May agreed. 

The commotion in the kitchen seemed to have calmed down. Isabel could be heard scolding Harry and Megan both, even though it probably hadn’t been either of their faults. Cheri knew it was only because Isabel liked it when cooking disasters didn’t involve her. 

“I really want to play Pin the Junk on the Underwear Model,” May said, after a moment, and Cheri burst into laughter again, mostly because of how _God awful_ the very _idea_ of such a game was. 

May laughed as well, and then reached over, pulling Cheri’s shot glass away from her across the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol,” she decided, standing and walking off towards the kitchen. 

Cheri sighed, slumping down in her seat on the couch, and she reached for her phone. 

> _Me: i miss u_
> 
> _Pete: Aren’t you having a good time?_
> 
> _Me: i cant stop lafing, but i still miss u_
> 
> _Pete: You’re drunk._
> 
> _Me: yes_
> 
> _Pete: I miss you too, Treble Clef, but I’ll see you tomorrow._

That was true. Cheri just wished tomorrow didn’t seem so painfully far away. 

> _Me: ill be the one in white_
> 
> _Pete: I’ll do my best to find you._

She grinned to herself, and tossed her phone away again, wishing that tomorrow could come _right now._

Harry emerged from the kitchen, holding aloft the frozen pizza they’d managed to cook that _hadn’t_ caught on fire. 

“There’s only one!” he announced. “But there’s still a shit-ton of those cream-filled strawberries, so we’ll just gorge ourselves on those.” He set the pizza down on the coffee table. “Let’s eat, ladies.” 

They did just that, and Megan brought out her tray of pre-prepared Jello shots, which Cheri consumed two of, despite May and Isabel’s quiet, half-hearted objections. When they’d eaten as much of the pizza as they could (the crust had been pretty burnt), and, as Harry had said, _gorged_ themselves on the snack food that remained, they played a few rounds of Pin the Junk on the Underwear Model. Cheri had laughed herself sick over the fact that her mother had almost gotten the location of the junk exactly right on her first try, blindfolded, while pining said junk with her _mouth._

As February 1st turned into February 2nd, the streetlights outside Cheri and Peter’s apartment glowing gold, the three younger bachelorette party goers found themselves lounged across various pieces of furniture in the front room. Cheri had ended up on the couch, her head on Harry’s thigh. Megan was somewhere on the floor, flopped across the beanbag she’d brought with her. May and Isabel had retired to the guest room several hours prior. 

Cheri blinked up at the penis-shaped string lights that were hanging from the ceiling fan, smiling to herself. 

“Harry,” she began. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you awake?”

“... no,” Harry replied, flatly. Megan snorted from where she was on her beanbag. “What is it, Cheri?” 

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Cheri said, and she giggled, cupping her hands over her mouth. 

“You’re getting married today, technically,” Harry corrected, sounding amused. “It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Hey, Harry?” Cheri continued, having ignored his previous statement. 

“Yes, Cheri?” 

Cheri hummed, softly, and rolled over onto her side, pressing her face into the cushion of the couch. “I’m glad you’re here,” she mumbled, drowsiness setting in all at once. “I love you lots.”

“I love you too, kid,” Harry replied, softly. Cheri felt him brush her hair off her forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“‘Kay,” Cheri murmured, already halfway there. 

Silence descended in the living room. Somehow, despite being mostly asleep, Cheri still managed another smile as the thought registered within her head once more. 

_I’m getting married!_

**February 2nd, 2025 - 314 E. 54th St., Brooklyn, New York, USA - 10:12 AM**

“Where are your cufflinks?” Ned demanded, looking over Peter’s appearance via the mirror they were sharing in the room they were using to get dressed in. 

Peter glanced down at his shirt-sleeves. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t know I had cufflinks.” 

Ned threw up his hands and walked over to the garment bag that Peter’s suit had been in. He picked it up, and shook it upside down over the floor. A small black box fell from the bottom of it. 

“Oh,” Peter said, when Ned bent down and snatched it up, brandishing it at him. “Sorry.”

He was realizing, as more time passed, that his friend seemed to be more panicked than he was. Peter, normally, would’ve been amused by the fact. 

Not this time. This time, he was a bit worried about his own lack of panic. Didn’t all grooms panic on their wedding day? Or was it a good sign that he _wasn’t_ panicking, because it meant he knew he was making the right choice in marrying Cheri? 

Peter closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of intrusive dizziness washed over him. Ned noticed, immediately, and hurried over to him. 

“You okay?” he asked, taking Peter’s arm, and Peter nodded. He allowed Ned to help him sit down in a nearby chair, and held his head between his hands for a moment. 

“I just need a second,” he said, noticing Ned’s expression in the mirror. 

There was a knock on the door, then, and Harry poked his head inside. “Half-hour ‘til showtime, gents,” he announced, opening the door wide enough to scoot into the room. He noticed Peter’s position. “You good?” 

“Fine,” Peter responded. The dizzy spell seemed to have passed. He lifted his head, and breathed outwards, slowly. “Just - I can’t believe I’m actually getting married.” He looked between his two friends, frowning a bit. “Is - is Cheri making a mistake?” 

Harry snorted. “That’s probably the first time a groom’s asked if the _bride’s_ making a mistake,” he said, and then he walked over to where Peter sat. He rested a hand on his shoulder. “Peter, you and Cheri are probably the only two people I’ve ever met who are _meant_ to be together. Neither of you is making a mistake, I promise.” 

“He’s right,” Ned put in, and Peter glanced at him. His oldest friend nodded, adamant. “This was the only course of action for the two of you. You’re absolutely, one-hundred percent supposed to get married.” 

Peter relaxed. He’d known this, of course he did, but it was always good to have it confirmed by outside sources. He smiled at his two friends. 

“Thanks, guys,” he said, and then he stood up again. He held out his hand for the box that held the cufflinks. Ned handed it to him. “Is Cheri ready?” he asked Harry, who’d been with her getting dressed. 

“Pretty much,” Harry answered. “They were situating the whole something borrowed thing when I ducked out of there to come check on you.” He admired Peter’s appearance via the reflection of the mirror, and Peter saw him smile. “You look good, dude.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied, smiling as well. He finished fastening the cufflinks, straightening his sleeves. Ned approached from behind, holding his black suit jacket, and Peter held out his arms. Ned slid the jacket over them, and up to his shoulders. Peter buttoned the top button, and then tugged on the bottom of it. He turned this way and that, looking himself over, and decided that, yeah, Harry was right. He _did_ look good. 

“Okay,” he said, turning to face his friends. “Guess I should head out there. They set everything up okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answered, walking back over to the door. “Your gazebo thing’s cute, if a little unnecessary.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and looked at Ned. “Will you go double-check?” he asked, and Ned nodded, going to leave the room after Harry. A thought came to Peter just before he could exit through the door. “Ned!” 

“What’s up?” 

Peter furrowed his brow, worried. “You have the rings?” 

Ned rolled his eyes, and then pulled another box out of the breast pocket of his own suit jacket, holding it up. “Just like I did the first time you asked,” he assured, and put the box back into his pocket. “It’s gonna go fine, Peter.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, turning to look at his appearance once more, as Ned left the room.

* * *

Cheri reached up, again, to adjust her veil. Megan immediately smacked her hand away. 

“Will you knock it off?” she demanded. “You’re going to fuck up your hair.”

Cheri made a face at her in response, and reached down to fiddle with her engagement ring, something she’d been doing for the last two hours while she’d been fussed over by Megan, May, and her mother, all of whom had taken part in getting her ready, while Harry offered commentary to keep things lighthearted. 

Now, she was sitting in the chair positioned in front of the boudoir, very worried that she hadn’t remembered to slide on the blue garter, or that the necklace she’d borrowed from Abuela would fall off while she was walking down the aisle. 

Or that Peter wouldn’t be waiting for her at the end of it. 

“Stop it.” She jumped, startled by Harry’s voice, and turned to see that he’d come back to the room. He was frowning at her. “I can tell what you’re thinking. You need to stop being stupid.”

“I’m just -”

“- being stupid,” Harry interrupted, despite the look that Megan was giving him. “It’s _fine,_ Cheri. Peter had the same freak-out that you did, but he was able to realize that the two of you are 100 percent supposed to get married.” 

Cheri exhaled a shaky breath, and turned to look at herself in the mirror again. Harry approached her from behind and, despite Megan’s verbal protests, slid his arms around her shoulders, resting his head against hers. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, quietly. “Peter’s not going to know how to react when he sees you.”

Cheri managed a smile. “Well, I hope he doesn’t faint,” she said, quietly. “That would make things awkward.” 

Harry grinned, too, and hugged her for another moment, before stepping back again. He checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, and looked at her. “You need to pee?”

“I should probably try,” Cheri admitted, standing up. She brushed down the front of her dress, and then glanced up, frowning when she saw the expressions on her friends’ faces. “What?” 

“You just look amazing,” Megan said, beaming. “The dress, the hair, the makeup - ugh, it’s all so fucking good.”

Cheri relaxed, and she smiled too, looking down at herself. “Thanks,” she said, “but it’s not all me.” 

“No, you’re right, me, Isabel, and May deserve a prize or something,” Megan agreed, and Cheri laughed. “But you’re the one who makes it work.” 

Cheri hummed, and spun in a circle, before looking between the two of them again. “I should pee,” she decided. 

“Yeah, c’mon,” Harry agreed, and he opened the door of the room. Cheri shuffled out it, Megan behind her, and the three of them headed for the bathroom down the hall. 

**4:12 PM**

The wedding ceremony had gone fine, much to Peter and Cheri’s relief, and they hoped with all their hearts that the same would be said of the reception. So far, it seemed to be the case. Everyone enjoyed the food (which Cheri had needed to be thoroughly convinced not to make herself), and they seemed to like the music (which Cheri _had_ picked, and really, there’d been no other option). 

With the food eaten, it was time for speeches to be given. As best man, Ned would be going first. Peter had been watching him closely, and he’d seen Ned grow more and more nervous. He sat on Peter’s left at the main table in the small, grassy reception area of the venue, covered to avoid weather, which hadn’t really been a problem, surprisingly. Cheri sat to his right, and she hadn’t seemed to notice Ned’s nerves at all, if the smile she’d been wearing since she’d seen Peter at the end of the aisle was any indication. 

Peter thought that she might also have been the tiniest bit buzzed off of the champagne that had been served. She’d had three glasses before he’d put a stop to it, knowing that she’d be annoyed with herself later on if she drank anymore than that. 

He turned his attention to Ned as his friend nudged him with his elbow, an indication that he was going to start. Peter nodded to him, and Ned stood, lifting his glass with him. He tapped against it a few times with a fork, and the _tink-_ ing sound rang through the reception area. Wedding attendees, the number of which was fairly small, considering how few people could know that Peter was a superhero, and close friends with other superheroes, turned to look at the main table, and at Ned. 

Ned, Peter noticed, looked a little faint. 

_Dear God, please don’t let him faint,_ he thought, glancing briefly upwards. 

“Uh, hey, everybody,” Ned began, after clearing his throat, and after the DJ had turned down the music that had been playing in the background while people ate. “I’m Ned Leeds, the best man. And the guy who’s always been known as the kid just the slightest bit more nerdy than Peter.”

Some of the wedding attendees chuckled at this, and Ned smiled a little, obviously relieved that his joke had landed. “A title that has stuck with me since… I wanna say we were seven, because, believe it or not, I’ve known Peter that long. I kind of knew we were friends for life when we literally glued our hands together one time, after finishing a Lego model.”

Peter laughed along with everyone else. God, that had been embarrassing. Ned’s mother hadn’t stopped yelling at them the entire time they soaked their hands in salt water, to try and loosen the super glue’s hold on their skin. May had been furious, too, but he knew that she and Ben had laughed about it after they’d sent him to his room. 

Ned coughed into his fist. “At least we didn’t glue together a different appendage.”

Cheri let out a loud snort, from the other side of Peter, and almost knocked her glass of water over. Peter quickly reached out and caught it, before grinning up at Ned. Ned beamed back at him. Peter was happy for his friend; he knew that Ned had been worried about his speech. 

“When we were sophomores in high school, Peter scored a pretty big internship with Stark Industries. About a year prior, his Uncle Ben had died, and after getting the internship, it was the first time I saw Peter genuinely excited for something, since… then.”

Peter winced. It was never a good idea to bring up the dead uncle-turned-guardian during a speech that was meant to be a little funny, while also being heartfelt. It dampened the mood instantly. 

Ned seemed to realize this, because he quickly kept talking: “After that, uh… things were about the same, for a really long time. I never saw Peter act the way he had after learning about the internship again. Until he met Cheri, anyway.”

There was a soft, collective “Aw,” from the wedding goers. Peter reached over and took Cheri’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. She smiled at him in response, and leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief moment.

Ned continued: “To be honest, I didn’t really understand his infatuation with her, at first, just like I didn’t really understand the internship, either, but… I felt the same way, hearing about Cheri from him, that I had about the internship, when he’d first gotten it. I wanted to understand how she could bring that smile to his face, and it only took me about a month into their relationship to realize it was because she was meant for him, just like the internship was.” 

Peter inhaled, slowly, wanting to stave off the tears he felt stinging at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t like remembering all the times he’d gone to Ned, feeling sorry for himself, and how his friend had listened to him, even if he hadn’t agreed with Peter’s denial of his feelings for Cheri. Peter probably didn’t thank him enough for listening to him be stupid about the whole situation. 

“So, uh… if any of you here want what’s best for Peter, just like I do, which I hope you all do,” Ned went on, “you can take my word for it when I say that that’s what Cheri is.” He glanced at the two of them, and Peter realized that Cheri was tearing up as well. She blew Ned a kiss, and he smiled at her, before turning back to the rest of the reception area. “And I hope with all my heart that he’s what’s best for her, because honestly, she has brought so much light into his life.” 

He lifted his glass. “So, if you’d all join me in a toast.” The attendees lifted their glasses, and Ned looked at Cheri and Peter once more. “To Cheri and Peter. You two exemplify the sort of love that every good person in this world deserves to find, and I’m so happy to know that the two of you have found it. I love you both.” 

“To Cheri and Peter!” the wedding goers chorused, and then people sitting at the same tables clinked glasses, and took sips of champagne. Peter climbed to his feet and tugged Ned into a tight hug that lasted several long seconds. 

“That was awesome, Ned,” Peter murmured to him. “Thank you.” 

“Just doing my job, man,” Ned responded, patting him on the back. 

Peter let him go, sniffling, and he let out a short laugh. “And hey, I love you too.” 

Ned looked away, and Peter thought it was so he wouldn’t burst into tears. “Stop looking at me like that,” his friend scolded, sitting back down. Peter chuckled, and sank down as well, with a heavy exhalation. 

More speeches followed Ned’s. Harry wasted no time in reminding everyone that he’d been the one to introduce Peter and Cheri in the first place, which Ned muttered to Peter was a cheap way of getting audience approval early on. Tony’s speech was… well. Peter liked it, but Ned noted that no one had _cried,_ which he believed meant that his speech had won.

Cake came next, with the obligatory smashing of the dessert into one another’s faces by Cheri and Peter. Peter learned of a bet between the D&D bros about who’d be the one to shove cake into the other's face first (apparently, Ned had been certain that Cheri’s wiliness would do it, but Peter hadn’t wasted the opportunity to be a little shit, because duh). 

When everyone had mostly stopped snacking on whatever remained of dinner, they turned their attention to the party aspect of a wedding reception instead, which meant dancing. Peter saw Ned retreat to the edge of the dance floor, obviously wanting to avoid being dragged out. Peter was tempted to pull him out himself, but he never found the time, amidst all the well-wishers who came up to where he and Cheri were sitting to congratulate them. Music had been playing for well over an hour before they were allowed out onto the dance floor themselves. 

They shared their first dance to _Just The Way You Are,_ because there was really no other choice. After that, they danced to several more slow songs for the couples in attendance, and even put on their boogie shoes at one point, to dance to _The Git Up,_ which embarrassed the hell out of both of them, much to everyone else’s entertainment. 

Eventually, Tony walked up to them, tapping Peter on the shoulder. He gestured towards Cheri with a sweep of his hand. “May I?” he asked. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course,” Peter said, stepping back. 

“Thanks,” Tony said. “I think you owe your mother-in-law a dance, maybe. And your aunt. And your grandmother-in-law.” 

“Right,” Peter said, and he hurried away to fulfill those duties. Once he was out of sight, Tony turned back to Cheri, holding out his hand. 

“Dance with me, _mon_ Cheri,” he said grandly. 

Cheri laughed, but all the same took his hand, and allowed him to draw her close. The song changed just at the right moment, to Billy Joel’s _Lullaby._

“Yikes,” she said, placing her hands on Tony’s shoulders. “Not so choice, this song.” 

“What do you mean? I like it a lot,” Tony said. 

“Yeah, but for a wedding?” She sighed. “I should’ve checked to make sure the Billy Joel songs the DJ chose to play were the fun ones.”

“Eh,” Tony dismissed, turning them in a slow circle. “It’s fine to serve our purpose.” 

They danced in silence for a minute. Cheri’s gaze found Peter, where he was talking to the three mother-figures in their lives. She smiled to herself. 

“Y’know,” Tony started, and Cheri turned back to him, lifting an eyebrow. “I think you guys are going to be okay.” 

She smiled a little. “Ah, relief just washed over me,” she said, teasingly. Tony made a face. 

“I’m being serious.” 

“No, I know you are,” she replied. “I am too.” 

Tony snorted, and Cheri chuckled, resting her forehead against his shoulder. 

_“Goodnight, my angel, now it’s time to dream_ _  
__And dream how wonderful your life will be._  
 _Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby_ _  
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me.”_

Cheri lifted her head, smiling again. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Mm, for what?” he asked. 

“Everything,” she replied. 

“Ah,” he said, smiling back. “Well, you’re welcome, although I don’t really think you need to thank me for _everything.”_

“Yes I do,” Cheri responded, and she placed her arms around his neck instead, hugging him as they swayed to the soft piano. “And I definitely don’t say it enough.”

The song ended, and Cheri sniffled, just a little embarrassed. She pulled back from him, and giggled, wiping at her eyes. “God, I’ve cried more times today than I have in months,” she said. 

“Good day for it, I think,” Tony said, and he grinned. “Thanks for the dance, Peanuts.” 

“Gotta get in while you can,” Cheri said, letting him lead her to the edge of the dance floor. She sighed, weary. “I didn’t even really get to eat any food.”

Tony laughed. “I smuggled some rolls for you,” he said, and he pulled her towards where he was sitting at the same table as May, Isabel, Abuela, and Stephen. 

About an hour later, Peter and Cheri had retreated to the main table, partied out. Cheri’s feet were up in Peter’s lap, and he was rubbing them without paying much attention, but just because they were there. He watched her expression, mostly, watched the shadows grow long over her face as the sun set. Her entire form seemed to glow in the transition from light to dark. 

After some time, her eyes fluttered open, and found his face. He smiled at her. “Forget where you were?” he asked, amused. 

“No,” Cheri said, a bit stubbornly. “Champagne makes me sleepy, is all.” She sat up straighter in her chair, moving her feet to the ground. They gazed out at their wedding attendees for a moment without speaking. 

“Hey, Parker.” 

Peter glanced to his left, and saw M.J. approaching the table. She wore a navy pantsuit, and a warm smile. 

“M.J.,” he said, half-amazed, but completely pleased to see her. He stood. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Haven’t been for long,” M.J. responded. “Showed up about half-an-hour ago, just to say ‘hi’.'' She looked past him at Cheri. “Hey.”

“Hi, M.J.,” Cheri replied, smiling a little. “It’s good to see you.” 

M.J. looked at Peter again. “Glad you finally bit the bullet,” she said, gesturing towards the rest of the reception area. “I would’ve thought the two of you were already married, from what I saw at Ned’s birthday a couple years back.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, well…” He scratched at the back of his head. “We figured it was best to wait until Cheri was finished with school.” He glanced at her. “How’ve you been?” 

“Not bad,” M.J. said with a shrug. “Got hired as a cartoonist for the _Bugle.”_

“Hey, that’s awesome,” Peter said. “Congrats.”

“It’s a pretty good gig,” M.J. agreed. “Editor’s a real asshole, though. You’d hate him.”

“I bet,” Peter said, grinning. “You gonna stick around?” 

“Nah,” M.J. said with a shake of her head. “Just dropped by to say hello, and give you this.” She handed him an envelope, addressed to _Mr. and Mrs. Peter Parker._ Peter looked down at it for a moment. 

“You didn’t have to,” he said, and M.J. shrugged again. 

“Yeah, but you can’t come to a wedding without a present.” She glanced at Cheri again, and Peter did as well. Her eyes had closed again, and she had a small smile on her face. M.J. tilted her head towards her, smiling as well. 

“Congrats, dude,” she said. “You scored big time with this one.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told the same thing by several different people,” Peter agreed. “And… y’know, I’m happy for you, too.” He nodded to the ring she had on her left hand’s fourth finger. “I bet they’re awesome.”

M.J. snorted, then held out her hand to him. “It was good to see you, Peter,” she said, her voice soft and genuine, now, lacking it’s usual cool tone and slightly contemptuous verbiage. “Really.”

“Yeah, you too,” Peter agreed, shaking her hand. “Don’t be a stranger, all right?” 

M.J. merely offered him a wry smile in response. “Take your wife home,” she suggested, her tone back to normal, now. “Looks like she could use some sleep.”

With that, she turned and sauntered off, stopping to speak briefly with Ned before continuing on her way. Peter smiled a little to himself, and leaned down to speak to Cheri. 

“Treble Clef?” he said, quietly, and she let out a drowsy hum. “You want to head home?” 

Cheri’s eyes opened. She peered around for a moment. “Everyone’s still having fun,” she said, glancing up at him. 

“So they can stay,” Peter said. “We should get into a real bed, though. Come on.” He helped her stand, and when she slumped against him, he chuckled, and lifted her into his arms instead. He caught Tony’s eye as he carried her towards the entrance of the venue, and Tony gave him a slight nod of understanding. 

Peter nodded back, and carried his wife out of the venue, heading for their car. They could deal with the presents and stuff tomorrow, when Cheri was well-rested. Right now, Peter thought she had the right of it; they both needed some sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no schedule. I just so happen to have enough leeway where I thought I could post a chapter today, too.


	3. May and June 14th, 2025

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and I are gonna do this together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter because it's all based on the same plot line enjoy!

**May 14th, 2025 -** **420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 6:45 AM**

Peter scowled at his phone, and then threw it away from him across the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m so fucking tired of this,” he muttered. 

“Another article?” Cheri guessed, walking over with his refilled cup of coffee. Peter took it from her with a soft grunt of affirmation. Cheri sighed, and sat down beside him, rubbing his shoulder. “I don’t know why you read them,” she said, gently. “You know that they’re full of shit.”

“Even if they are, that doesn’t stop other people from reading them,” Peter said. He shook his head, setting his mug down on the coffee table, untouched. “It’s giving Spider-Man a bad reputation. No one’s going to want me swinging around the city to help them.”

“Please,” Cheri scoffed. “Only idiots actually believe the stuff that _The Daily Bugle_ posts. Even if the people writing and publishing it believe it, everyone else can read it as satirical, a joke, like _The Onion.”_ She squeezed his shoulder, gently. “Try not to let it get to you, okay?” 

Peter huffed quietly, and Cheri let out a sigh. She stood again, and pressed a kiss to his head. “I gotta get to school,” she told him. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

She started to walk away from him, but Peter grabbed her hand before she could, and pulled her back over to where he sat. He tugged at her hand until Cheri leaned down, and he kissed her, properly. 

“Have a good day,” he murmured when she pulled back, and Cheri smiled. 

“You too.” 

Peter let her go, this time, watching as she retrieved the bag she carried with her to school from the floor near the door. She pulled her keys off of the rack hanging on the wall, and then exited the apartment. Peter heard the door lock, and then listened as her footfalls faded way down the hall. If he strained, he’d be able to listen as she left the building entirely, but he decided not to. 

Instead, he glowered at his phone where it still sat harmlessly at one end of the couch. Griffin, the gray tabby that had been Cheri’s birthday gift in March, mewed from the floor, and then jumped up onto the arm of the couch beside where Peter sat. Peter had surprised her with a trip to a shelter, and she’d picked out the two-year-old tabby, based solely on his distinct rusty purr. The name had been a joint decision: Peter suggested the name, having thought of Griffin McElroy, and Cheri had agreed. 

Peter exhaled, slowly, and reached over to pet the cat. Griffin purred in his motorboat way, and Peter managed a smile. 

“Thanks,” he said, and then sighed. “I just wish I could, like, sue for false information or something, but I can’t, because that would mean exposing myself as Spider-Man.”

Griffin continued to purr, and Peter lowered his hand, knowing that the cat would only take so much petting before he grew annoyed. 

“Whatever,” he decided aloud. “Cheri’s right. No one who reads it can actually believe any of it’s true. I mean, they’re writing that I’m a menace, who works with the criminals I help stop?” He shook his head. “So stupid.”

Still, though, he had to wonder if M.J. was still working for the online publication, considering how much they bad-mouthed Spider-Man. At least he hadn’t seen any of those stupid cartoons with himself as the big-headed villain signed with her name. So, she wasn’t actively taking part in it, even if she knew about it. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked to the clock on the wall for the time. He didn’t have a class until ten thirty; maybe he’d be able to get away with going back to bed for a couple hours. 

**Empire State University, New York, NY, USA - 2:33 PM**

Peter pushed his way out of the library with a weary sigh, juggling the two separate 3D models he’d had printed the week before, and had just spent the last hour perfecting so that they fit together in the right way. He was meant to bring in a working display of the mechanical project that one of his practical classes had been focused on all semester. If it wasn’t actually working by the time finals week rolled around, he’d fail. 

“Parker.”

He paused, and turned in the direction of his last name, blinking as M.J. rounded one of the pillars outside the library, walking over to where he’d stopped. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, and winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so annoyed by the fact that she _was_ there; the thought of the article from that morning had reared its ugly head. 

M.J., however, didn’t look surprised by his apparent anger with her. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” she explained, glancing over her shoulder. “You got a minute?” 

Peter sighed. “Yeah,” he said, because he did. His other class of the day started at 3:30. He gestured with his head towards a bench nearby. “C’mon.”

M.J. followed him over to the bench, where he set down his two models, eyeing them over. He knew that they did fit together (he’d made sure of the fact), but he was still worried that what he’d end up presenting wouldn’t be good enough for his professor. Things got a lot more serious, and less hypothetical, when you were beseeching your master’s degree. 

“Okay,” he said, glancing at M.J. after making sure his models weren’t going to fall off the bench. “What’s up?” 

M.J. exhaled, and crossed her arms. She must’ve been on a break, or had just left work, because she was wearing slacks and a nice button-up. There was a bit of a sour taste in Peter’s mouth as he recognized this; apparently _The Bugle_ thought of itself as a place worthy of slacks and button-ups. 

“You’ve seen the articles, then,” she said, and Peter blinked at her, not thinking it necessary to respond. M.J. frowned at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I have no part in what they say, Peter.”

“So then what are you doing here?” Peter asked her. “Apologizing for the words of others?” 

“I’m here to help you, you idiot,” M.J. said, sharply, and then she blew out a breath of air, reaching up to brush back a curl that had come loose from the bun she had her hair up in. “Look,” she began again, more calmly, “I’m pretty sure my editor knows. About you.”

Almost as once, Peter felt a completely different weight settle onto his shoulders. He furrowed his brow, studying her. “What makes you think that?” he asked, and M.J. shifted her weight, glancing downwards. 

“He’s been asking me questions,” she explained. “Which… why would he do that, unless he knew that _I_ knew, right?” 

Peter’s head was threatening to start spinning, and he wondered if these dizzy spells were cause for concern, considering he was supposed to be able to avoid things like headaches. He’d have to mention it to Bruce, when he saw him. 

After taking a second to center himself, he breathed outwards, and then said, “Yeah. Uhm… do you… _how_ do you think he knows?” 

M.J. shook her head. “I only know that Norman Osborn’s been in touch with him,” she said. “I’m friends with Jameson’s secretary, and he’s been fielding a lot of calls from Osborn.” 

_Shit._ “Osborn can’t tell anyone about me,” Peter said, desperate to believe this was true. “It’s illegal. There was a - a settlement, after what happened with Harry.” 

“I don’t know, dude,” M.J. told him. “I can only say what I’ve figured out, recently, and I have to assume that the only reason Osborn would be in touch with the editor of _The Bugle_ would be to give information. And, considering what he knows…” She trailed off, and then met his gaze. “Did you piss someone off?” 

“I’ve pissed off a lot of people,” Peter muttered in response, wincing as the mental list he kept of all his enemies ran through his head. He shook it off. “Whatever. Osborn I can deal with, since it _is_ illegal for him to be spreading my name around.” He hesitated, and then glanced at her. “Do you think your editor’s planning on… releasing that information?”

“I can’t be sure,” she said. “And since he thinks I know, he probably won’t tell me, but it - I’ll keep an eye and ear out, and if I catch a hint of anything mentioning you specifically, I’ll let you know.” She paused, and then sighed. “But, Peter, there’s only so much that can be done. If something gets posted -”

But Peter had stopped listening, because he’d just remembered that he was best friends with a technological genius, who no doubt could figure out how to block a website, if not get it taken off of the internet entirely. Ned would be able to help him with this. If _The Bugle_ couldn’t reach its readers, there was no need to worry about his name appearing in any articles exposing Spider-Man’s true identity, and they could take the time that gave them to deal with this Jameson guy. 

_Tony_ could help him with that. 

“Okay,” he said, and M.J. raised an eyebrow. “I can - I can figure this out.” He looked at her. “Thank you, for coming to tell me. I appreciate it, and I’m… I’m sorry, for -”

M.J. put up her hands. “Don’t,” she said. “I get it. We’re friends, you’re wondering why I work for the online publication that… publishes what it does.”

Peter had noticed that they were very careful about including his name and Spider-Man’s name in conversation together. He hated feeling paranoid enough to do something like this, but it hadn’t escaped his thoughts that maybe M.J. was being paid to talk to him, to try and gather intel for her editor. He didn’t truly think M.J. would do something like that, but at the same time, he needed to watch his back. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been betrayed by a friend, and one that wasn’t nearly as close to him as Harry had been at the time of his own betrayal. 

Speaking of Harry, Peter could only imagine how he’d react when he learned that his father was being a shit-head. He imagined that Harry would want to commit murder, or at least arson. Peter was tempted to let him do so. 

“Anyway,” he said aloud, “thanks again. You telling me this now is probably going to save me a lot of trouble down the line.”

“Well,” M.J. said, “I figure that, as soon as you start dealing with this, Jameson’s probably going to find out that I was the one to tell you what was going on, so I decided to get a jumpstart on doing that, _and_ finding a job.” She hesitated, and then added, “Besides, my partner’s into the idea of leaving New York, so this is just more incentive to do so.”

That was surprising. Still, though, Peter wasn’t one to tell people not to do things that they thought best, so he smiled. 

“Well, if you need help with anything, just ask,” he said. 

“Thanks,” M.J. said, smiling back. “And like I said, if anything else weird happens between now, and whenever you decide to act, I’ll let you know.” Her smile became a bit more wry. “If you can, maybe hold off for a week or so. It’ll give me a chance to quit, before I can get fired.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll do that.”

“Good luck, Parker,” M.J. said, and she turned, walking away from the bench. Peter watched her go, and then let out a breath, looking up at the sky, bright blue. 

“Okay,” he said, after a moment, and pulled out his phone. There was only one person he felt like talking to, in that moment, before he truly started to deal with the mess that he was apparently in, and that was his wife. 

He was just glad that school was over, for her, because it meant that she’d be able to answer the phone, and she did so, after two rings.

“Hey,” she greeted, sounding as though she were trying not to sound worried. “What’s up?”

Peter tried to figure out what the best response to that question was. He settled on: “Nothing good.”

“Oh no,” Cheri said, quietly. “Why? What happened?” 

“I can’t really say too much over the phone,” Peter said, “but I…” He hesitated, closing his eyes. “Just… we’ll have a lot of stuff to talk about, when I get home.” 

“Pete -”

“I’m sorry that you’re involved in my mess,” he whispered, his grip tightening around his phone as the guilt settled heavily onto his chest. 

“I’ll always want to be involved in your messes, no matter what they are,” Cheri assured him. “We’ll clean it up together, okay? And hey, if you don’t feel like going to your afternoon class, you shouldn’t force yourself to.”

“No, but I have to,” Peter responded, because he was at least certain of that. “I’ll be fine. It might help get my mind off of everything.” He opened his eyes again. “Sorry for calling you, but I guess I just… I wanted to hear your voice.”

“That’s okay,” Cheri said, and he could tell that she was smiling a little. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Okay,” Peter replied, quietly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Cheri told him. “And Pete, whatever it is, we’re going to be able to deal with it. We can handle anything.” 

That, at least, Peter thought he could believe. 

**420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 5:21 PM**

Cheri was dismayed to learn what M.J. had told Peter, but she didn’t seem to let that deter her from immediately making plans to deal with it all. 

“Well,” she started, “Osborn will be easy enough to deal with, because, per that agreement, we can have him arrested. As for Jameson… I think you’re right, in having Ned try to either block access _The Bugle,_ or delete it entirely.” She paused, frowning a little. “The only problem I see with _that_ is loyal readers, and otherwise, noticing that _The Bugle_ was blocked, and thinking that means they were spreading information people, maybe Spider-Man, didn’t want everyone knowing.” 

“I realized that, too,” Peter responded, sinking down onto the couch. “I think, though, we can figure out a way to work around that.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’ll talk to Ned. He’ll probably be able to come up with something.” 

Cheri nodded, and continued to pace in front of the coffee table, frowning to herself. Griffin darted between her feet as she did so, mewling. “And M.J. asked for a week?” she questioned. 

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “But we can probably get started on Osborn now. He won’t be able to tell Jameson anything if he’s in prison.” He glanced at her. “You actually think he’ll go to prison?” 

“I’m sure Tony will try to _get him_ in prison,” Cheri assured. She stooped down to pick Griffin up, which got him to stop meowing. “You should call him.”

“You’re right,” Peter agreed. “And I’m going to call Harry.”

“I can do that,” Cheri said, as Peter pulled out his phone. “Besides, it’ll be easier to talk to Ned about what needs to happen in person. Maybe I can just invite them over this weekend, or something.”

“Good idea,” Peter agreed. He stood up, holding his phone in his hand, blinking down at it. Cheri set Griffin down on the coffee table, and walked around it to him, putting her hand around his arm. 

“Hey,” she began, gently, and Peter glanced at her. “It’s gonna be fine, but calling Tony is the first step.”

Peter sighed. ‘“I’m just worried that… that I ask him for too much,” he admitted, sounding tired. 

“Pete, you don’t _ask_ him for anything,” Cheri said. “He gives, and you thank him. It’s… it’s what a parent does, for their kid.”

“He’s not my dad,” Peter mumbled.

“He’s as good as,” Cheri retorted. “And you know it.” Peter didn’t respond, and Cheri sighed. “Tony _lives_ for being able to help you with things. Just call him.”

Peter exhaled, his shoulders rising and falling. He lifted his phone, and dialed Tony’s number, before putting the phone on speaker. 

It rang three times before Tony picked up, sounding a little breathless. “Whoo,” he began. “Hey, kid. Sorry, I had to run and grab the phone. Almost didn’t even hear it.” He let out a sigh. “What’s going on?” 

Peter closed his eyes, brow creased. Cheri studied him for a moment, before taking the phone from him. “We actually have something we need your help with, Tony,” she said into it, moving her free hand into Peter’s. 

“Ah, jeez, what is it?” Tony asked, not sounding very worried. “Is the owner of the building giving you guys trouble? I told him, when I bought the apartment, that he was going to _leave you alone -”_

“No, no, nothing like that,” Cheri replied. “The apartment’s awesome, we love it. It’s… it’s about Spider-Man.”

“Oh.” There was a momentary pause. “What about him?” 

“We think Norman Osborn breached the agreement he signed after the Goblin thing,” Peter blurted out, before Cheri could figure out how best to phrase the issue. 

She should’ve known, however, that just saying it outright was always the best choice, when it came to Tony. 

“Ah.” Tony hummed, quietly. “Well, good. I’ve been hoping for a way to put that son of a bitch in his place.” Cheri heard him set his phone down on a flat surface. “So, what’s he done?”

Peter explained the whole situation to him, the same way he had to Cheri. It took maybe three minutes. When he was done, Tony hummed again. 

“Got it,” he said. “And… what’s the plan for this Jameson asshole?” 

“Well, we haven’t… we haven’t really come up with one,” Peter said, glancing at Cheri, “but we think the first step should be blocking _The Bugle_ from public access, which we’re pretty sure Ned can help with.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he can,” Tony said, after a moment. “And, what, you’re hoping this’ll buy you some time while you figure out how to keep him from sharing any information?” 

“Pretty much,” Peter replied. To Cheri, he sounded as though he knew where Tony was going with this line of questioning, and Cheri was pretty sure she did, too. 

It seemed as though Tony meant to tear holes in their plan. Probably for their sake, to keep them from doing something that’ll make things worse, but. 

“Hm.” There was another moment of silence. “Well, you can _try_ that, obviously, but unless you can come up with a way to actually keep Jameson quiet, buying yourselves time isn’t going to be enough.” 

“So, what, you think we should pursue legal action against him, too?” Peter asked. “If I did that, it’d be proving to him that I’m Spider-Man, and he could still use that information down the line, just like Osborn decided to.”

Tony sighed. “Well,” he said, “then we’ll need to come up with something else. Until then, I’ll get started on going after Osborn for breaching the agreement. When I come up with a good plan, I’ll let you know.” He was silent for another second, thoughtful. “It should be fine. I’ll bring Bruce’s cousin in on it; she’s pretty kick-ass.” 

“Okay,” Peter said, quietly. “Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry to have to have brought you into this. It should be my problem.” 

“Don’t even go there, Pete,” Tony told him. “Seriously. This is… this is my area, y’know? Lawsuits and shit. I live for it.” 

An idea, brighter than the sun, popped into Cheri’s head. “Tony,” she began. 

“Mhm?” 

“Could we…” She winced at the way her brain had decided to phrase her next question. “Could we borrow Stephen?” 

There was a moment of silence on both ends of the phone call as Peter and Tony came to conclusions as to why Cheri would request such a thing. 

Peter got there first, and he blinked at her, flabbergasted. 

“You have to be joking,” he said, ignoring Griffin as the cat pawed at the cuffs of his jeans. 

Cheri responded by making a face at him, and turning her attention back to the phone. Tony still hadn’t said anything. “Tony?” she prodded. 

“Uhm.” There was another pause, but this time, Cheri thought she could hear muffled voices coming from Peter’s phone. Was Tony talking to Stephen, because he hadn’t understood why Cheri would be asking for his help? 

Finally, after an extended period of _nothing_ aside from what might have been muffled voices, Tony returned, clearly: “He says it won’t work.”

Peter looked marginally relieved, while Cheri scowled at the phone. “Why not?” 

“Because, and I quote, ‘To alter someone’s memories, it needs to come from a relative source, and we don’t know of one that would work for Jameson. Obviously.’”

“So we find one,” Cheri insisted. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“What, and tell _them_ that Peter’s Spider-Man?” Tony questioned, sarcastically. “That’s a great idea, Cheri. I’m glad you’re so good at problem solving.”

“Hey, stop,” Peter said, before Cheri could respond. “Don’t fight with one another. Besides, I wouldn’t have been okay with that decision, anyway, even if it had been feasible.” He sank down onto the couch, and Griffin hopped up beside him, demanding attention. Cheri watched as Peter absently began to pet the cat, before she turned her attention back to the phone she still had in her hand. 

“Whatever,” she said. “Let’s deal with Osborn, then, and maybe we’ll come up with some way to deal with Jameson in the process.” 

“Fine,” Tony responded, just as short as she had been. “I’ll let you know what happens with Osborn, and you keep me posted with new ideas about the other one. Good?” 

“Fine,” Cheri said, mimicking his tone. “Bye.” She ended the call, without looking to see if Peter had wanted to continue the conversation. She tossed his phone toward him, and then walked out of the living room, heading to the kitchen to get started on dinner. 

She expected Peter to follow her, even if it took him a few minutes, but he never did. Instead, she cooked dinner alone, and carried it on two plates over to the small table they had sat up against one wall in the main room of the apartment, since the kitchen wasn’t big enough to fit it. Peter was no longer sitting on the couch, and she went looking for him in their bedroom, after debating with herself for a moment on the matter. 

She did find him in there, laid out on their bed, on his side, facing away from the door. Cheri exhaled, lingering in the doorway. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she forced herself to say. 

“Okay,” Peter replied, his voice lowered. “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Cheri remained where she stood for a moment longer, watching him. There was a tension in the air, she recognized, but she had no idea what it had been born from, so she decided to apologize for the one thing that she might have done wrong. 

“I’m sorry for fighting with Tony,” she said, and relaxed a bit when Peter rolled over to look at her. 

“What? Don’t apologize for that.” He sat up, pushing a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“I just…” Cheri blew out a breath, feeling stupid. “I feel like you’re mad at me about something.”

Peter frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “I’m just - I’m pissed off, about everything, and I - I hate that you’re being dragged into it.” He lowered his gaze. “I know I said that earlier, and you said that it didn’t matter, but it matters to me. I don’t… I don’t want you resenting the fact that I… I have to deal with things like this, because of who I am.”

Immediately, Cheri moved into the room, and sat down on the bed next to him. “Don’t,” she said, surprised by her own intensity as she took his hand, gripping it tightly. Peter blinked first at her, and then down at their hands, maybe a bit shocked by her strength. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ imply that I could resent _anything_ about you.” 

“But you should,” Peter whispered. “It - we’re going to deal with things like this, things like the possibility of my identity being exposed to people who don’t like the fact that I’m a superhero. People that’ll want to hurt me, hurt people that are around me. We’re not - we shouldn’t have to deal with stuff like that. We should deal with shitty building owners, or, like, faulty credit card bills, like normal people.”

Cheri released a breath, in an effort to help herself relax. “Peter Parker,” she began, “I love you. I knew exactly what I was signing up for, when I agreed to marry you.” She loosened her grip on his hand, but only so that she could reach up and cup the back of his neck instead. “For better or worse, right? It doesn’t matter that our worse is different from the worse of every other couple. We can _handle it.”_

There was a moment of silence. A tear raced down Peter’s cheek, and Cheri quickly wiped it away with her thumb, managing a smile for him. After a second, he smiled back, and leaned his forehead against hers. 

“I know,” he said. “And believe me, I’ve never met anyone else who I’d rather have with me, while I take it all on.” 

Peter brushed away a few of her tears, this time, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“I love you, too,” he continued, softly. “No matter what, that’ll be our constant. Okay?” 

Cheri responded by kissing him properly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to lean into it. Peter’s hand rested on her waist as he kissed her back. He smiled through it, and Cheri hoped that she’d managed to convince him of just how willing she was to help him, with anything. 

After all, that was what teammates did for one another, and they _were_ a team. A partnership. 

_For better or worse._

She had a feeling that the _or worse_ aspect would definitely be rearing its ugly head more often than not. 

But, she’d meant it, when she said that they could handle it. They had proof of that very fact. 

Eventually, she broke the kiss off, remembering the food she’d put on the table. “We should go eat,” she said, “before Griffin jumps onto the table and finishes our dinner for us.”

Peter let out a laugh, and some of the lingering anxiety that had remained in Cheri’s stomach fluttered away.

**June 14th 2025 - New Avengers Compound - Somewhere in Upstate New York, USA - 4:51 PM**

“So, yeah,” Tony concluded, shutting the filing folder that he had open in front of him, on the desk in his office. “Osborn’s dealt with; judges gave him a year, with six months of parole.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “Right,” he said. “Harry’s testimony really helped, too. I didn’t… well. I knew Osborn did some weird stuff, in terms of experiments, but I didn’t think it was as bad as all that.” He exhaled. “I wish Harry had told me.”

“Do you blame him for not telling you, though?” Tony asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to tell people that my dad purposefully, like, repressed a part of me that could’ve been dealt with via love and support instead of nasty medication.”

Peter leaned back in his chair. It had been Tony’s idea to have Harry file a suit against Osborn for emotional and physical harm. The evidence that had been presented, including Harry’s _illness,_ and the fact that Osborn had spent the entirety of Harry’s life making him believe that what was inside him could only be dealt with through a suppressant drug, had almost been enough on its own to extend Osborn’s prison sentence, on top of his breach of contract. Harry’s testimony, about his personal experience with Osborn’s treatment of his illness, had been the nail in the coffin. 

Peter hadn’t been in the courtroom, mostly to protect himself, what with how public the whole event was, considering who Osborn and Tony were in the broader scope of New York. He’d seen video, however, of Harry’s time on the stand, had seen the embarrassment, the re-lived fear on his friend’s face, and had decided that, if he ever saw the man in person again, he might just have to strangle the life out of Norman Osborn. 

“And Jameson?” Peter asked, wanting to move away from the topic of Harry’s troubled upbringing. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing it without Harry himself present; it almost felt like he was gossiping behind his friend’s back. 

“Well, we got him on libel, because really, none of the things _The Bugle_ posted about Spider-Man could be taken as truth, and there were plenty of cops and firemen who were willing to come forward to testify for you, and disprove the things Jameson was saying,” Tony responded. “So, the website’s been taken down, which is a start.” He folded his hands on top of his desk. “We’re trying to settle, but Jameson thinks losing his source of income is bad enough, and his attorney is doing his best to make that stick.”

Peter didn’t feel much better. “But… how do we know that he isn’t just going to try and figure out a different way of spreading false information about Spider-Man?” he asked, wondering if he actually needed to throw up, or if that was just dread. 

Tony sighed. “We don’t,” he said. “Not really. But I’m hoping that this whole thing at least scared him away from the idea of going back into journalism.” He tilted his head, taking Peter in. “It’s all right, Pete,” he soothed, obviously sensing Peter’s distress. “He’s been dealt with, for now, and I’m going to have people keeping an eye out for _anything_ that mentions your name.” 

Peter blew out a breath, and leaned forward, hanging his head between his hands. “It’s just… it’s just that it’s not just about me,” he explained. “If it got out, who Spider-Man is, I mean… they could go after May, or… or Cheri.” He squeezed his eyes shut as the thought of Herman Schultz or Mac Grogan figuring out that Cheri was Spider-Man’s wife crept in, and knew he probably wasn’t going to be sleeping very well that night. “I can’t let that happen, Tony.” 

“I know,” Tony assured, and Peter realized that he did. Tony had dealt with plenty in terms of people he cared about being threatened because his enemies knew he was Iron Man. “No one’s going to find out, Peter, I promise. They’ll be safe.” 

Peter knew he was right. Even if someone _did_ find out that he was Spider-Man, there were plenty of measures that could be put in place to protect the people closest to him. Peter didn’t _want_ things to turn out that way, for May and Cheri to be living constantly with the worry that someone was going to come for them in the night to get revenge on Spider-Man, even if they were being protected by heavily-armed safety details, but… at least he knew that that was an option, if necessary. 

So, he sat up straight again, and nodded. “Okay,” he said, and then he stood up. Tony followed suit. Peter looked at him for a moment, before his shoulders fell. 

“Thank you, Tony,” he said, quietly. “Really. I feel like I don’t… I don’t really give you enough appreciation, for everything you do for me, and it -”

“Stop it,” Tony interrupted, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t like where this conversation will end up going, and so I’m going to keep it from getting there at all.” All the same, he smiled, sliding his hands into the pockets of the slacks he was wearing. “But you’re welcome. I wouldn’t do any of this for you if I thought you didn’t appreciate it, believe me.” He shrugged. “I love you, kid. I’d do anything for you.”

Peter’s chest tightened, and he managed a nod. “Right. Yeah. Okay.” He blew out a breath. “Same here.”

Tony offered him a small smile, and then he glanced away, suddenly looking worried. “So… speaking along… sort of the same lines -”

Peter immediately frowned. “What happened?” he asked, expecting Tony to tell him something horrible. 

“Nothing happened, per se,” Tony replied. “Not yet anyway. But I thought I’d mention it to you, before it does.”

“Before…?” Peter’s mind ran through the many different possibilities of what Tony could be talking about. 

Tony drummed his fingers against the top of his desk, and glanced sideways at Peter. “I asked Stephen to move in with me,” he said, “and he said that he would.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked, and then sat up a bit straighter. “Oh. Uhm. That’s… that’s cool.”

Tony eyed him. “Is it?” he asked. “Because I know that he wasn’t your favorite person.”

Peter considered. He hadn’t trusted Stephen, not at first, not when he’d worried that the sorcerer was going to hurt his mentor. Now, though, that he knew the relationship between them was serious enough for Tony to ask him to move in, he supposed that any ill feelings he had towards Stephen needed to be squashed. 

He didn’t really have any left, not considering how frequent a presence Stephen had been over the last year-and-a-half or so. But it was weird for him to know that Tony was moving in with someone new. Before the Bad Stuff, Peter had known a Tony Stark who was hopelessly in love with Pepper Potts, and had had every intention of marrying her. 

But, things had changed. The relationship that had existed between Tony and Pepper had never technically happened, considering the changes that had been made to the timeline they were in, and so… Peter supposed that there wasn’t anything to be weirded out by. Tony must have fallen in love with Stephen, instead. 

“You love him?” Peter asked, just to double check, and the small smile that appeared on Tony’s face was answer enough. Peter relaxed again. “Okay. I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony responded, and then, probably because he disliked talking about that sort of thing, he changed the subject. “How’re things with Cheri?” 

“Fine,” Peter replied, although he knew that wasn’t completely true. His focus over the last few weeks had very much been on trying to avoid doing anything to give Jameson and Osborn a reason to reveal his identity to the public. As such, he’d been a bit on edge, which had sort of given Cheri incentive to avoid him. Peter appreciated it, in a way, and when he didn’t feel like being left alone, he sought her out, and she was more than happy to be with him in those instances, but otherwise…

Well. He felt a bit like he’d been neglecting his wife, and he didn’t like feeling that way. As such, this small stint at the Compound was meant to be time for him to figure out how best to approach her, and make up for the fact that he hadn’t been paying much attention to her, by being so worried about protecting himself, and by extension, her as well. 

Tony must have taken his silence as a response, because his mentor sighed. “I know it’s been a rough few weeks,” he said, “but -”

“I know,” Peter said, before Tony could try to give him advice that he probably already knew. “And Cheri gets it, why I haven’t been able to be… y’know. But I’m planning on making up for it. We’re here, and we can focus on _us_ this week.”

School had ended for the both of them the day before, which meant that they had all summer to spend time together. Peter knew that Cheri had made plans with Ned and Harry, for the four of them to go on a trip together. Peter thought the destination was Vegas, but he wasn’t positive. He knew, though, that since she’d turned twenty-one, Cheri had been waiting for an excuse to put her legality to use. 

But, that wasn’t for a few weeks, yet, which meant he and Cheri had time for themselves, to do whatever they wanted to do. Cheri had decided that she wanted to spend their first week of break at the Compound. Peter had willingly agreed, since he’d needed to visit with Tony to talk about the legal stuff, anyway. 

As such, he probably needed to head downstairs, and find her. She’d mentioned that she wanted to take a walk around the perimeter, and Peter wanted to catch her before she decided to go on her own. 

So, feeling guilty, he said, “I should go find her,” and Tony nodded in agreement. 

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “We can talk more later, if you want. All right?”

Peter nodded in agreement, and stood. “Thanks, Tony.” 

“Sure,” Tony replied, and Peter started for the door of Tony’s third floor office. “Pete?”

He paused, and turned to look at his mentor. Tony inclined his head to him. 

“Don’t forget that Cheri’s an important part of your life,” he said, gently. “With everything else you do, she should always factor in, somehow.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, after a moment. “I know.”

“Okay.” Tony looked away again. “See you later, kid.”

Peter slid from the office, feeling a little weary, for whatever reason. Tony hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already decided for himself, after all. 

He headed for the elevator, and took it down to the second floor, assuming he’d find Cheri there. As he passed the living room, he spotted Steve and Bucky sitting together on one of the couches, in deep conversation. Peter didn’t stop to eavesdrop, and instead continued down the hall to the room that had been his quarters since he’d been made an official member of the Avengers. He supposed it was his and Cheri’s room, now, and had been for a while. 

His wife was in there, sitting at the desk, reading a book. Peter paused in the doorway, and just watched her for a moment, his heart swelling as he took her in. Sometimes, it struck him, randomly, just how gorgeous she was, with her dark, curly hair, and her light brown skin. Her long eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and as she read, the corner of her mouth lifted, in just the right way that the dimple she had on her cheek appeared. 

“Hey,” Peter said, and she glanced at him.

“Hi,” she replied, and she set her book down. “Did you talk to him?”

Peter nodded. “It’s all been sorted out,” he said. He stepped further into the room. “Did you still want to take a walk?”

“If you do,” Cheri said, shrugging. “It’s pretty hot out, so if you’d rather stay inside, we can do that, too.” She gestured to the book. “It’s a Stephen King I haven’t read before, so.”

Peter, oddly, felt as though he’d already done something wrong. There was nothing in her voice, nothing about her body language that gave him reason to believe it. He supposed it was merely the fact that she’d said that, if he didn’t want to do the thing she’d suggested they do, that it was fine. 

That bothered him. 

“If you want to take a walk, we should take a walk,” he decided, and Cheri lifted an eyebrow, probably because of how stern he suddenly sounded. Peter exhaled, and forced his shoulders to relax. “I mean, it was something you said you wanted to do, so.”

“I don’t want to make you go on a walk with me if you don’t feel like it, though,” Cheri pointed out. 

For whatever reason, this merely annoyed Peter further. 

“Fine,” he said, letting his frustration show in his tone. “Then we won’t go for a walk.”

Cheri blinked at him, before scowling. “Fine,” she echoed, curtly, and picked up her book again. Peter waited, to see if she’d say something else. When she didn’t, he rolled his eyes, and walked out of the room again, huffing quietly. 

He didn’t stop until he’d walked into the living room, having forgotten that Steve and Bucky were in there. Thankfully, they’d heard him coming, and so he didn’t walk into their private conversation, but he felt bad for interrupting nonetheless. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, recognizing that he didn’t _sound_ very sorry at all. “I’ll go.”

“No, stay,” Steve said, glancing sideways at Bucky, who didn’t meet his gaze. “We were done talking anyway.” Steve frowned at Peter. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Peter mumbled, walking around to the empty couch and sinking down on it. “Just - Cheri and I have been kind of distanced from one another, with everything that’s been going on, and it’s…” He sighed, and then ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Mm. Sounds like you need to talk it through with one another,” Steve said. “Which has never been a problem with the two of you before.”

“I know,” Peter responded, tiredly. “I just… the last thing I want to have to do is talk to my wife about… about how when Spider-Man enters the picture, there’s… there has to be a separation. And since Spider-Man was the focus of the last month or so, it… it kind of took my attention away from Peter Parker, and by extension, Cheri. Y’know?”

“No,” Steve replied with a small smile. “Sorry, Peter, but I don’t. Since everyone knows that Steve Rogers is Captain American, that separation you’re talking about hasn’t ever really been something I had to consider.” 

Bucky let out a derisive snort from beside him, almost quiet enough that Peter didn’t even notice it. He did, however, and so did Steve, who visibly tensed. 

“Buck,” he began, his voice lowered, but Bucky ignored him, standing up and starting from the room. He paused on the way past where Peter was sitting on the couch. 

“Don’t neglect your wife, Parker,” he suggested, under his breath, before he disappeared from view. Peter looked back at Steve, frowning in concern, but Steve merely shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, quietly. “Just… we’re going through something of our own, right now, and we’re not really in agreement about it.”

Peter thought that maybe this was something he shouldn’t butt into, and so he didn’t ask for further explanation. Instead, he sighed, quietly, and stood up again. “I should talk to her,” he decided. 

Steve nodded in agreement. “Good idea,” he said, and he stood as well. “And I think I need to keep talking to Bucky.”

With that, he walked out of the living room, in the direction of the elevator. Peter made to return to his and Cheri’s room, but paused when he saw that she was standing in the archway already, looking at him. She had one arm crossed over her chest, holding onto the other one. She wore an expression of worry, but also embarrassment, Peter thought, which was weird. She had no reason to be embarrassed. 

“I remembered that you said that… that I needed to be better about talking to you whenever I thought there was a problem with our relationship,” she said, softly. 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, after a moment of thought. It had been a while since they’d had _that_ particular conversation, after Cheri had expressed a worry that she wasn’t good enough for him when it had seemed that another woman had an interest in him. “And I needed to be better about encouraging those conversations.”

“Right.” Cheri exhaled, and lowered her arms. “So, let’s talk. Uhm… I feel like… maybe I should’ve tried more, to show that I was on your side, like I said I was when the whole mess first started, and I don’t think I… I did very well at that, which I hate.”

Peter immediately felt horrible about having been annoyed with her. “No,” he said at once, holding out a hand. Cheri approached, albeit after a moment of hesitation. She took his hand, and Peter sat down again, pulling her with him. He held her hand between his, tracing his thumb over her knuckles, his eyes on hers. 

“I should’ve… I didn’t really give off anything that showed I wanted your help. In fact, it was easier for me, with you… kind of backing off, the way you did, easier to focus on… on what I needed to do.” He sighed. “But I don’t want to have to do that all the time, and only approach you when I feel like I’m… I’m lonely, or whatever.” 

Cheri offered him a sad smile. “We should be able to read one another better,” she said. “And I know we can, we just… neglected to, this time, for some reason.”

“You’re right,” Peter said. “And I - maybe it was because we were…” He trailed off; he didn’t actually have an explanation for it. “Well, we know better, now. I can’t push you away like I did, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to avoid me.”

He watched Cheri straighten her shoulders, and she nodded. “That was good,” she said, and Peter smiled, a little. He leaned in, and kissed her, gently, before resting his forehead against hers with a soft sigh. 

“Hopefully things can go back to normal, now,” he said. “And we should be able to find time to spend together through the next couple of months.” He leaned back so that he could look at her, reaching up to brush a curl out of her face. “We haven’t had much of a chance to do that, since the wedding.” 

“Right,” Cheri agreed. “I think… well, I don’t really know, to be honest.” She let out a soft laugh. “I want to do something with you. Just us.” 

Peter exhaled. “Yeah,” he said. “It -” He hesitated, and then slid his hands into hers. “Maybe we should just go back to the city. Spend some time at the apartment.”

Cheri nodded. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” she agreed. “So there’s no added stress from the idea of an actual trip or whatever. Just some time at home.” She offered him a smile. “Maybe we can do a 5000 piece puzzle.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Or build a LEGO model?” he suggested, and Cheri snorted. 

“You wish. That nerd stuff is reserved for you and Ned.” 

Peter chuckled, and pulled her in for a hug, letting out a breath as she relaxed in his arms. 

“I love you,” he said, after a moment. 

“I love you, too,” Cheri responded, and for Peter, that was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's fun to imagine that M.J,'s partner is Felicia. That's just a lil' headcanon I have.


	4. Two Days in August, 2025

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your blood counts it's losses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a story all on its own. Maybe grab some popcorn and settle in?

**August 3rd, 2025 - 420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 2:32 PM**

“Peter! Ugh.” Cheri angrily shoved the couch back into its proper location in the living room, and then sank down it, resting her head in her hands. How many times had she asked him not to bump into it when he was exiting the hallway? 

Since summer had started, and after the debacle with Jameson and Osborn, he hadn’t been as busy with school work for his master’s, but he’d been much busier with Spider-Man stuff. Since mid-July, after they’d returned from their trip to Vegas with Ned and Harry, it had become a pattern: he’d be gone all day, doing whatever it was he did out in the city, now that most crime bosses had been arrested. She had no idea what it was, but somehow it took up most of his time. 

Which was annoying. Because she’d been busy during the school year with _school,_ too, as a first year teacher, and she’d barely had any time for him, which had annoyed _him,_ if their brief fight at the beginning of June had been any indication _._ Now, though, during the three months of the year that they should’ve been able to share with one another, he was _always gone._

Which. No. Absolutely not. Because it was their first year of marriage, and although they’d spent some time together directly after the Jameson-Osborn issue had been resolved, the last month or so had been completely different, and she felt as though she’d barely seen him. 

So, she wasn’t really angry about the couch. She was angry about the fact that Peter had spent so much of the first five months of the year being upset with her because of how much work she had to do, on top of the issue he’d been dealing with in relation to the possible exposure of his identity, but now, when they had time to make up for their separation due to difference circumstances, he wasn’t taking advantage of it. 

Her annoyance wasn’t completely with him, she knew. She was having a hard time getting her school to cooperate with the new curriculum she’d settled on for the upcoming school year. Although the district had given her the go-ahead, her principal was being iffy, since it went against the standardized music curriculum for the state. It was frustrating, the back-and-forth she’d been stuck in almost all summer. 

She heard a window slide open, and lifted her head in time to see Peter swing in through it. He landed lightly on the floor, and reached up to tug off his mask. Cheri had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face by the time he looked over at her. 

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding a bit out of breath. His brow creased. “You’re pissed?”

“You could say that,” Cheri agreed, rising from the couch. “You didn’t tell me you were going out. Again.”

Peter frowned. “But I responded to the text you sent.”

“That doesn’t -” Cheri closed her eyes for a moment, to level herself. “Pete, whenever you go out, and you’re gone all day, I’d like to know that you’re leaving in the first place, so that I can make plans for myself. I thought we’d be able to do some things together, this summer, considering you wanted time with me when I was busy during the school year.”

“Of course I want to spend time with you,” Peter told her, “but it - there’s been a bit of a resurgence in crime, recently. That Tombstone guy’s really gotten himself a position in the city, and we’re trying to figure out how to lure him out into the open.” 

“I understand that,” Cheri said. “I do. But it’s - you were so upset with me all the time during the spring semester because I never had any free time, and now it seems like you’re kind of… being a hypocrite, almost.” 

Peter blew out a breath, and reached up to run his gloved fingers through his hair. “I get why you feel that way,” he said. “But Cher, this is a really big deal. New York needs Spider-Man again.”

She frowned at him. “So that matters more than me needing you?” 

“No -”

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“Cheri, I’m a superhero,” Peter said. She could hear frustration creeping into his tone. He must’ve been tired; it usually took much longer for his patience to wear out, if it even did. “Finding new sources for surges in crime, stopping that crime? It’s my job. I can’t just ignore it.” 

She stared at him for a moment longer, before she shook her head. “Fine,” she said, putting up her hands, and turning to go down the hall leading to their bedroom. “Fine. You be a superhero, then.” 

She heard him follow her into their bedroom, and pause in the doorway. She grabbed for the duffle bag she used for luggage whenever she went somewhere. “What are you doing?” Peter asked as she went into their closet. 

_“We_ were supposed to go upstate this weekend, stay at the Compound to get out of the city for a little bit,” she reminded him. “But since you’re so busy with _your job,_ I guess I’m going on my own.” 

She ignored the look that he was giving her, shoving clothing into the duffle bag. “Don’t act like this,” he said, as she went into their en-suite to grab some toiletries. 

“Act like what?” she questioned, pulling open a cabinet. “A frustrated spouse? Because that’s what I am right now, Peter.” 

“Cheri, I _have_ to be here,” Peter insisted. “If they manage to pinpoint this guy’s location, they’re going to need my help to bring him in.” 

“I’m sure they will,” Cheri agreed, walking back into the bedroom. She pushed the toiletries she’d grabbed into the duffle bag as well, and then zipped it up. “And you can tell me all about it when I come back.” 

She picked up the duffle bag, and walked towards the door of the bedroom, having to push past him into the hallway. Peter turned with the force, and followed her back out into the front room of the apartment. Griffin, who’d crept curiously out of the small space built into his scratching tower to see what was happening, quickly disappeared back into it, obviously not enjoying the energy in the air. 

“Cheri, I don’t think you should leave right now,” he said. “You’re upset, and we need to talk this through.”

“There’s nothing to talk through,” she pointed out. “Since it’s your _job,_ it isn’t as though you just _can’t_ do the things involved with it, right?” She grabbed for her keys off the rack hanging on the wall next to the front door. “There’s stuff in the kitchen that you can use to make food, or you can get take-out, I guess. I’ll text you when I get to the Compound.”

“Cheri, please.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob. She didn’t turn to look at him. Peter exhaled. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else there is to say.”

She turned the knob and pulled the door open. “Then I guess that’s it,” she said, and stepped out of the apartment, pulling the door shut behind her. 

**4:01 PM**

“You know what you _should_ do,” Harry said, and Peter glanced at him. “Go after her. Obviously.”

“Harry, I _can’t_ leave the city,” Peter told him. “We’re so close to pinpointing where this guy is located.”

“And who’s we?” Ned asked. “The police and you?” When Peter nodded, Ned spread his hands. “What the hell do they need you for? It sounds like there’s plenty of police force involved in this.”

Peter sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Spider-Man’s suited to taking these sort of dudes down without issue,” he explained. “I can get in there faster than any SWAT team. They need me around.” 

“And when they don’t find him this weekend, you’re going to feel like a stupid jackass who let Cheri spend a weekend away from you, upstate, pissed off and upset,” Harry said, flatly. 

“Maybe, but if they do manage to find him, then Spider-Man will have let down New York.” Peter covered his face with his hands. “I knew being married _and_ being Spider-Man was going to be hard.” 

“But when you made this decision to be both, I thought you were willing to figure it out,” Ned said. “Where’d that willingness go?” 

“You gotta decide whether or not leaving Cheri pissed off is worse than something that _might_ happen with Spider-Man,” Harry added. “You _know_ Cheri’s mad, and you _know_ that you can fix things. You have no idea whether this thing with Spider-Man is going to happen.” 

Peter lowered his hands. They were right, he knew. He had to go after Cheri. It was the only choice in the entire situation that he knew the consequences of, and that meant he needed to act on it. He could deal with the aftermath of the possibilities of the other options later on, when Cheri wasn’t mad at him anymore. 

“Fine,” he mumbled, and pushed himself off the couch. “I guess I’m going upstate.”

“Good,” Harry said, and he reached for the remote to the TV. “Let us know how it goes.”

Peter frowned at him and Ned as they made themselves comfortable on the couch. “Why aren’t you two going back to your apartment?” he asked them. 

“Why bother, when we can just hang out here?” Ned returned. "Besides, someone has to watch Griffin." 

As thought to prove this point, the gray tabby appeared, and jumped up onto the couch between Ned and Harry, laying down and curling his tail up over his paws. Ned scratched the top of his head, and Griffin purred, his eyes narrowing to slits in contentment. 

Peter rolled his eyes upwards, to the ceiling, before shaking his head. “Whatever.” He tugged off his shirt and pants, checking to make sure he had enough web fluid to get him to the Compound. “Don’t break anything.” 

“Sure, sure,” Harry said, waving his hand dismissively as he flipped through different channels. “Have fun.” 

“Tell Cheri we love her,” Ned added. 

Peter sighed, and headed to the window. 

**New Avengers Facility, Somewhere Upstate New York, USA - 6:53 PM**

Cheri checked her watch, frowning to herself. It was almost seven, and no one was present at the Compound. The place was empty, aside from FRIDAY, and Karen, Cheri assumed, although she hadn’t gone down to Peter’s lab to check. It was eerie, almost, being in the place by herself. Although it was huge, it never felt _empty._ For the first time, it did, and it made her very uncomfortable. 

Especially since no one was responding to text messages she’d been sending out all afternoon.

She pulled out her phone again, just to triple check that she hadn’t received any texts in the last ten minutes. Her screen showed no new notifications, and she thumbed through the last few hours of her text conversation with Tony. 

> _Me: I’m at the Compound. And… nobody else is._
> 
> _Tony: Hey, @ the Tower. Should be home by 6:30. Make food pls and thank u :D_
> 
> _Me: We’ll see._
> 
> _Me: Do you have a preference?_
> 
> _Me: It’s 6:30? And the place is still completely vacated? Where the hell are Cap and Bucky, at least?_
> 
> _Me: Tony?_
> 
> _Me: I hope this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank, because I’m really not in the mood._
> 
> _Me: Hello?_

Cheri furrowed her brow, and she switched over to the text conversation she had between herself and Peter. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, before she snorted quietly to herself, and locked her phone, shoving it away into her pocket again. He could contact her first, she decided, the ass. 

She lifted her head as she heard sounds coming from the direction of the elevator, and she pushed her way up off of the couch in the second floor living room, going to see what was happening. It sounded as though someone was _finally_ home, and it didn’t really matter to her who it was, because she had a feeling that they’d at least have some idea of what was going on with everyone else. 

She reached the elevator as the doors were closing again, and felt a chill run up her spine when she saw that Steve had stepped out of it, and that he was covered in blood. He was speaking urgently to someone who remained in the elevator as Cheri approached, although the elevator doors closed again before she could see who it was. 

“Cap?” she began, pausing a safe distance away from him. Steve looked over at her, and Cheri felt her throat tighten up at the expression on his face. “What’s going on?” she made herself ask. “Are you okay?” 

Steve glanced down at himself, and then back at her. “This isn’t mine,” he murmured, and took a step towards her. “Cheri -” 

“What happened?” she interrupted, not liking the sound of his voice at all. 

Steve flexed his hands. “It - Tony got the alert, while he was at the Tower,” he started, keeping his voice lowered. “He called Buck and I - it was a good thing we were in the city, too -”

 _“Steve,”_ Cheri broke in. “What _happened?”_

She watched as he breathed in and out, his shoulders rising and falling. “It’s Peter,” he said. “He was shot.” 

Cheri went ice cold as the blood drained out of her face. “Shot?” she whispered. “What - that doesn’t make sense. He - Peter doesn’t get _shot._ The suit protects him. His - his _senses_ protect him -”

“We think he was distracted,” Steve said. “It - the entry wound is on the back of his thigh -”

“His thigh,” Cheri repeated. “His -” Her fingers felt increasingly more numb. “Steve, did the bullet… did it hit his femoral artery?” 

The expression on Steve’s face was response enough. Cheri listened to her blood pounding in her ears as she pushed passed him and to the elevator, ignoring the fact that she got Peter’s blood on her hands as she did so. The doors opened for her after too long a moment, and she smashed the button for the fourth floor until they closed again, unaware that Steve had entered the elevator alongside her, and was watching her in clear concern. She didn’t look at him, stared at the metal doors until they opened up onto the fourth floor, and she shoved her way through when they were only a quarter of the way open, racing down the hall to the private rooms in the med bay. 

Someone grabbed her around the waist, just before she could shove her way into the first room in the correct hallway. She clawed at their arms, refusing to let herself be held back from getting to her husband’s side and staying there. 

“Cheri, _stop.”_ That was Tony’s voice, faint but clear. “You don’t want to see him the way he looks right now, kid, I promise.” 

Cheri could already see it, though, see Peter, pale, drained of blood, laying in a hospital bed that no doubt looked huge around his frail form, as doctors rushed to try and save his life. She wondered if Bruce was in there, if Stephen was, if they were staining their hands of whatever blood Peter had left as they sewed his artery back together, or whatever it was they were doing to him. He’d have a scar, she was certain, and he’d hate it, insisting that it was a mark of his own stupidity. 

If he even had the chance to hate it. 

She heard whimpering, and realized it was her own a second later. She stopped fighting against Tony, and instead slumped against him, pressing her face into his shoulder as she broke down in sobs. 

“He’s going to be okay,” she heard Tony murmur. “They’re going to save him.” 

She let herself cry for a few more moments, before inhaling, shakily, and turning her head so that she could look in the direction of Peter’s room. She kept seeing images of what could possibly be happening inside of it, and she forced them away, not wanting to think about it. She only wanted to see her husband. 

Tony adjusted his grip on her as Cheri gazed blankly towards the door leading into the room where Peter was. “I thought I asked you to find her and talk to her?” she heard him say, probably to Steve, whom she’d completely forgotten about. 

“I tried,” she heard Steve reply. “She heard us come up in the elevator. I didn’t have much of a chance to have a calm conversation with her.” 

“Don’t blame him,” Cheri whispered, and she felt Tony return his attention to her. “I didn’t give him any time to be gentle with it.” She pulled out of his grasp, and wiped at her nose. “What happened exactly? Do you know?” 

She saw the concern on Tony’s face, and elected to ignore it. She didn’t need to be answering questions about how she was able to regain her composure so quickly. Her husband was currently fighting for his life, if the amount of blood that covered Steve and Tony both was any indication, and she had zero intention of breaking down again, until she knew exactly what was going on. 

Tony exhaled, after a moment, and gestured vaguely. “The alert system that I still have attached to his suits went off,” he said, quietly, “notifying me that Peter had been critically injured. It - there’s been situations before where the alert has been a false alarm, but I - something told me that this time, it wasn’t, so I called Steve, because I knew he and Buck were in the city, too, and I thought they might have been closer to where Peter was at the time. They got there maybe a minute before I did.” He closed his eyes, and shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that minute saved Peter's life."

Cheri looked at Steve. “So do you know anything?” she asked. 

Steve shook his head. “Whoever shot him was gone by the time Bucky and I got there. Peter was on the ground; I think whoever got him did so while he was swinging, there was webbing hanging nearby, and it -” He closed his eyes.

Cheri didn’t need him to continue. “What did the bullet hit?” she asked, directing the question towards Tony. “Femoral artery?” 

“Grazed it,” Tony replied. “Went clean through his leg. He’d lost over a pint of blood by the time we got him loaded up to bring him here. They were able to stop the bleeding on the way, but it - he lost so much, Cheri.” 

“Transfusions?” she asked, and Tony nodded, and then winced. 

“Bruce and Stephen both are worried about how effective they'll be, considering Peter’s blood composition is very different from someone with normal B positive blood.” 

Cheri inhaled and exhaled, slowly, not wanting to lose the feeling of numbing calm that had stolen over her senses and thoughts. 

“Did you call May? Ned and Harry?” she asked, and Tony nodded. 

“We sent Bucky to get them,” he said. “They should be here anytime now.” 

“Okay.” Cheri crossed her arms over her chest. She caught sight of some residual blood on her hand, and swallowed down bile that rose up in her throat. “What’s happening now?”

“They’re trying to get more blood into him,” Tony answered. “And they’re reassuring themselves that the work they did on his artery and leg on the way is solid, so that… the stitches or whatever don’t break apart.” 

“But he should be okay?” 

Before Tony could respond, Bruce stepped out of the room. He was mostly free of blood, only had some on his wrists, no doubt left-over from whatever he’d just been doing. He looked at Cheri, first, and offered her a tiny nod. 

“He’s stable for now,” he said, “but obviously his blood pressure is… extremely low, and there’s - his leg isn’t healing itself naturally, with the speed a wound normally would, in Peter’s case, which I’m a little concerned by.” 

“But he’s okay?” Cheri repeated. 

“Relatively speaking,” Bruce answered. “His artery was repaired, and we stitched up the entry and exit wounds. He won’t be losing any more blood, which is the most important thing.” He fiddled with his wedding ring. “We just have to keep an eye on his vitals, now, and make sure that his body accepts the blood transfusions.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” Cheri heard herself ask. 

Bruce let out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, quietly. 

“What about his oxygen?” Tony asked, and Cheri glanced at him. Tony hesitated, before going on: “He wasn’t… he wasn’t breathing on his own, on the trip over.” 

“He still isn’t,” Bruce replied. “We’re - we’re going to watch him. At this point, we can only hope that the sudden drop in his oxygen levels didn’t affect brain function. Stephen offered to watch him for a while; I need to call Nat.” 

He walked away, then, towards the elevator. Cheri felt blood rush to her head, and dizziness crashed over her. She leaned to one side, and Tony caught her before she could collapse.

“He’ll be okay,” he said. “You heard Bruce.” 

“We don’t know that,” Cheri answered, pressing her hands into her eyes. “We don’t know how his body is going to react to the foreign blood, Tony.” 

From his lack of response, she knew that Tony was thinking the same thing. 

“I want to see him,” she decided, and pushed herself away from Tony again. She swayed a little, but put out a hand to keep Tony back, keeping her eyes closed as she steadied herself. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look fine,” Tony said, but Cheri ignored him, starting for the door. “Cheri, it - he’s not going to look -”

“I know,” she said, and pulled open the door. Her heart plummeted into her stomach at the sight that waited on the other side. 

Peter lay, looking rather small and pale, in the large hospital bed, several different wires connected to different machines all around him. A heart monitor beeped, steadily but slowly, near the head of the bed on the right side, and the mask he had over his nose and mouth clouded every few seconds with condensed air. Peter himself looked amess, his hair sticking up in places due to dried blood, and there was more blood on his cheek, smeared down his neck. Cheri couldn’t figure out how it had gotten all over the place the way it had, when the wound was in his thigh. Said thigh was uncovered, but wrapped in thick bandages, obviously an attempt to keep out nastiness that might cause infections or otherwise.

Cheri refrained from inhaling sharply, the way she wanted to, knowing that the metallic stench of blood would only make her throw up. Instead, she crossed the room to the bed, on the other side of it from where Stephen sat in a chair, frowning at the various monitors. She took Peter’s hand, disliking how cold it was, and squeezed it, gently. 

“Cheri,” she heard Tony say, from the doorway. 

“He looks bad,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on Peter’s face, “but I expected worse.” She actually wasn’t sure how much worse it could get, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud, not to Tony. 

“He’ll look better, once the blood starts doing its job again,” Stephen assured, although Cheri could hear the uncertainty in his voice. 

“Are the transfusions doing _anything?”_ Tony asked, joining him on the other side of the bed. 

“Nothing of note,” Stephen replied. “I assume Bruce mentioned the lack of healing?” He pulled down the blanket that covered Peter up to his chest, revealing a thick patch of bruising on his right side, no doubt the result of his fall mid-swing, after he’d been shot. “According to what we have on record about Peter’s standard healing rate, this shouldn’t still be here,” Stephen said. “We think it might have to do with the fact that his body is focusing itself on healing his artery and leg.”

“But?” Tony asked, sounding strained. 

“... but we can’t be sure,” Stephen said, softly. 

“I should clean him off,” Cheri decided. “Before May has to see him like this.” 

“Go ahead,” Stephen offered. “Just be careful.” 

Cheri nodded, and went over to the sink on one wall. She filled a tin tray with some water, grabbed a sponge from the cabinet above the sink, and walked back over to the bed. Gingerly, she began to wash off Peter’s face; she could feel more tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked, forcing them away, so that she could focus on her task. She needed to get any visible blood cleaned up before May arrived. 

“Do you want me to call your mom?” Tony asked, after several moments of silence had gone by.

“Why?” 

“Well, Peter’s her son-in-law,” Tony said, carefully. “I think she’d want to know what happened.” 

Cheri sighed, and relocated the sponge she was using, wondering how in the world she was going to deal with the blood in Peter’s hair. “Go ahead, I guess,” she mumbled. “I don’t think it’s a good idea; she’ll just start on a tirade about how Peter’s superhero-ing is a bad idea, and it was always a bad idea, and he should’ve stopped the second he knew he wanted to marry me, and whatever. All the nonsense she started spouting when I told her I wanted to marry him.” 

She didn’t look at Tony to see his reaction to this, nor did she glance away from Peter when she heard the door to the room open and close. Instead, she frowned a little to herself, considering the tin of light pink water and his hair. She’d have to use her fingers. 

She took the tin back over to the sink and rinsed it out, filling it with fresh water. She carried it back over to the bed, and slipped her hand into it, before steeling herself and running her wet fingers through Peter’s hair, working out the crusty clumps of blood as she went. 

The door opened again, signaling Tony and Bruce’s return. Steve entered with them, and Cheri heard him sigh, quietly, as he took Peter in. 

“He doesn’t look any better,” she heard him murmur. 

“Not the sort of thing you say out loud when his wife is in the room, Rogers,” Tony grumbled. 

“Quit it,” Bruce warned. Cheri saw him approach the monitors out of the corner of her eye, and could tell from the way he was standing that he didn’t like what he was seeing. “Why aren’t any of those levels increasing?” he mumbled, mostly to himself. 

“I don’t know,” Stephen responded, all the same. Cheri plunged her hand back into the water in the tin, scrubbing some of the blood off of her fingers. The water turned pink again almost instantly. 

“I wish we knew how he worked,” Tony sighed. 

“He isn’t a machine, Tone,” Bruce pointed out. 

“I know that,” Tony retorted, “but if - if we understood more about his spider… stuff, maybe we could help him.”

No one said anything for a moment. Cheri combed her fingers through Peter’s hair, trying her best to lay it in its normal fashion. She wished there was even the slightest hint of color in his cheeks, some indication that he was healing, however slowly.

“Bruce?” she heard Tony prompt, and glanced over at the others. Bruce was frowning down at Peter, and Tony was frowning at him. “You’re thinking about something. What is it?” 

Bruce inhaled, and glanced at Stephen. “Blood cell suppression.” 

Stephen raised his eyebrow, and leaned back in the chair he sat in. “It’s possible,” he said. “If the blood transfusion isn’t working properly, it’s just taking up space in his veins that his heart could be filling with blood that’ll do the thing his body needs it to, which is, essentially, help heal him.” 

Cheri frowned at both of them. “But that would mean -”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, a crease between his brows. “I wish we could test it, to see if there’s any truth to the idea.” 

“Well, do that,” Cheri insisted. “You - I mean - there’s probably enough of his blood all over the place to pull together a sample, right? You could test it, outside of his body, see what happens?”

Bruce’s shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t even know what we’d be looking for,” he admitted, quietly, looking at Stephen. 

“Anything abnormal,” Stephen said with a shrug. “We just need to be able to see if mixing Peter’s blood with normal human blood brings about any unwanted results. It might change color, we might be able to look at the composition of it, and see that it’s broken down - literally anything at all.” 

Bruce sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see if we can collect a sample of Peter’s blood from the van that he was transported in.”

“I’ll help,” Steve offered, and Bruce nodded, waving his hand for Steve to follow him back out of the room. As they left, FRIDAY spoke up from the watch Tony wore. 

“Boss?” the AI began. “May Parker is here, with Ned Leeds and Harry Osborn.” 

“Okay,” Tony said. “Uh…” He looked over at Cheri, who felt the tiniest bit lightheaded again. “Do you want them to come up here, or would you rather -?”

“They should be allowed to see him if they want to,” Cheri replied. She breathed outwards, slowly, and picked up the tin of water with her clean hand, carrying it back over to the sink to rinse it out and wash her hand off. 

“Send them up,” she heard Tony tell FRIDAY. “Cheri? Do you - can I get you anything?” 

Cheri closed her eyes for a moment, trying to maintain her composure, which seemed more likely to crumble with every passing second. 

“Why don’t you get her a chair from one of the other rooms?” Stephen suggested, which Cheri appreciated. 

“Right,” Tony agreed. “I’ll be right back.” 

Cheri listened as he left the room again. She then risked turning away from the sink, and walking back over to the bed, taking Peter’s hand in hers once more. He was just as cold as he had been, she was dismayed to note. 

“I should meet them outside,” she began, “just… just to warn them.” 

“I can do that,” Stephen offered, beginning to stand but Cheri shook her head, removing her hand from Peter’s. 

“Keep an eye on him,” she replied, and walked out into the hall, just as May and her and Peter’s two friends appeared at the end of it, coming from the direction of the elevator. May picked up her pace when she caught sight of Cheri, and hurried to her, pulling her into a tight hug. Cheri felt her resolve not to start sobbing crack a little, but she managed to keep it together long enough to hug May back. 

“How is he?” she heard May asked, and Cheri pulled out of the hug, sniffling. 

“He’s stable,” she said, “but everyone’s a little worried that the blood transfusions aren’t taking.”

“Did they give him the right type?” May questioned. She looked extremely pale, Cheri noted, almost as pale as Peter was. “They knew it was B positive, right?” 

“They had the right type,” Cheri said. “But I guess… I guess there’s probably something wrong with… with the composition of it? Because Peter's… y’know. It's different from a normal human’s.” 

“Oh, God,” May whispered, and she looked past Cheri, towards the room Peter was in. “How does he look?” 

“Not very good,” Cheri admitted, softly. 

“I should go see him,” May decided. She moved around Cheri, and stepped into Peter’s room. Cheri inhaled, and looked instead at Ned and Harry, both of whom didn’t look any better off than May had. Harry reached out for her, and Cheri stepped willingly into the hug, closing her eyes as she huddled against him. 

“He’ll be all right,” Harry said. “He’s tough.”

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, but Cheri could hear his voice waver. “He’ll - he’ll get through this. Guy got hit by a train before; this is nothing.” 

“When the fuck did he get hit by a train?” Harry asked, and Cheri sniffled. 

“When you guys were in Europe, that trip you went on your senior year,” she said. “Right?” 

“Yeah,” Ned replied. “It - well, it was a whole thing, don’t really need to get into it. I’ll let Peter tell you.” 

Thankfully, Harry cleared his throat, before Cheri could think too long about how it was possible that Peter might not get the chance to tell the story. 

“He’s lucky he gets to be here,” Harry said. “Instead of a hospital. They suck.” 

“That is nice,” Ned responded. “How are you doing, Cheri?” 

“Not great,” Cheri said, after a moment, “but Peter’s obviously doing worse.”

“The bullet grazed his femoral artery?” Harry asked, and Cheri nodded against his chest. “Yikes. Whoever got him must have been a kick-ass shot.” 

“Harry,” Ned sighed. 

“He’s right,” Cheri said. “They think he was mid-swing and everything.” She released a heavy breath. “What the hell was he doing?” 

“Coming here,” Ned said, before Harry cursed at him, hissing for him to _shut up._

Cheri frowned, and lifted her head, pulling out of the hug a bit so that she could look between both of them. “He was on his way _here?”_

Harry sighed. “He called us over, pretty much right after you left, and we convinced him to come,” he explained, reaching out to brush some of her hair out of her face. “He wanted to apologize.” 

“So it’s my fault,” Cheri concluded, softly. She grabbed Harry’s wrists in her hands, and pushed them away from her, stepping back a bit. “If I hadn’t - if we hadn’t _fought -”_

“Cheri, don’t do that to yourself,” Harry said, frowning. “You know it isn’t true.”

“It is,” she insisted. “If I hadn’t stormed out of the apartment the way I did, he wouldn’t have needed to come after me. We - it’s my -”

“Cheri, breathe,” Ned told her, reaching out to take her arm. She blinked, trying to breathe through the heavy weight that had settled over her chest. She faintly heard Ned tell Harry something, before she was plopped down onto the floor, leaning back against the wall Someone pressed her head down, until it was hanging between her knees. 

“Breathe, Cheri.” The voice belonged to Tony, and she heard him counting, in a pattern. It took her a moment, but she recognized it, eventually, and followed along with it, breathing in the same pattern. It was the same one Tony had taught her about, when she’d first learned of his panic attacks. Was that what was happening to her? A panic attack? She supposed it made sense, considering. 

“There you go,” she heard Tony say, after her dizziness had faded, and she was able to take in deeper breaths. “You’re all right.” 

“It was my fault,” she managed to whisper. 

“No, kid,” Tony assured, gently. “It’s whoever actually shot him’s fault.” 

“He’s in danger -”

“Of course he is,” Tony said, “but we’re doing everything we can to get him out of it, Cheri, I promise. Doc’s studying the blood right now.” 

“What’s he looking for?” Cheri heard Harry ask.

“Anything that might indicate that the blood transfusions we gave Peter are suppressing the creation of his own blood,” Tony explained. 

“Let me up,” Cheri murmured. “I want to go back in there.”

“I think you should stay sitting for a few more minutes -”

“Tony.” She lifted her gaze from where it had been on her knees, and looked at him. “I want to be with him.” 

Tony stared back at her for a moment, before sighing. “All right,” he said, and he stood, helping her to her feet as well. He directed her back into Peter’s room with a gentle hand on her back. 

She found May on the side of bed that she’d been standing on, holding Peter’s hand between both of hers. She glanced over when Cheri entered the room, with Tony, Ned, and Harry behind her. 

“There hasn’t been a change,” she said. 

“No,” Stephen confirmed, looking more concerned than when Cheri had last seen him. “There hasn’t been.” 

“Shit,” she heard Ned mumble from behind her, and then he was moving forward, towards the bed. He looked horrified. He reached up, and ran a hand down his face. “Shit.” 

“He doesn’t… look great,” Harry murmured, stepping up beside Cheri. She slid her hand into his, without really thinking about it, and leaned against him. He reached around with his other hand and rubbed her arm. “It’s okay.”

Cheri heard Tony shift behind her. “I’m going to go find Bruce,” he said. 

“I’ll go with you,” Harry replied, and when there was a moment of silence, he sighed. “I don’t want to be completely useless here. I know a few things about medical stuff.” 

“He’s right,” Cheri put in, knowing that Tony wasn’t going to want to believe him. “He took a few classes, in college.”

“An environmentalist with an interest in medicine?” Tony said, flatly. 

“I can have more than one interest,” Harry retorted. Cheri could feel his slight spike in annoyance in the way he’d tensed. “Spending so much time in a hospital growing up kind of leaves a mark.”

“I’ll go too,” Ned said. “Not that I… know anything at all about that sort of thing.”

Cheri heard Tony sigh. “No,” he said. “You stay here. Harry and I can go.” 

“No need.” Bruce had reentered the room. He looked pale. “I barely had to mix the blood before I saw a reaction; a barrier of sorts formed between the two of them.” He nodded towards Peter. “If we don’t get that B positive blood out of him, I’m worried that the same thing is going to happen near or inside of his heart, and we don’t know what that could lead to.” 

There was a long moment of silence, before Stephen cleared his throat. 

“Well,” he began, and focused on Cheri. “If that’s the case, we have two options. We can continue to wait, to see what happens over an extended period of time, when Peter’s heart tries to cycle through the B positive from the transfusion, or we can… we can exsanguinate him, and hope that his heart responds quickly enough in producing his own blood.”

Cheri blinked at him, and May shook her head. 

“Neither of those options sound like good ones.” 

“They aren’t,” Tony muttered. He looked pissed, Cheri realized, and it probably had to do with the hopelessness he must have been feeling, if he was reacting in the same way as Cheri was. “But we have no other choice.”

“Cheri?” Stephen prompted, and everyone turned towards her again. She looked around at all of them in kind, weary. 

“Why are you all -?”

“It’s up to you to make this choice,” Stephen said, gently. “You have medical power of attorney.” 

“When the hell did that happen?” Cheri demanded. 

“When you got married,” Bruce explained. “It was something that was on the form you filled out, when you got your marriage license.” 

Cheri couldn’t remember any such thing, but then she wouldn’t, would she? Peter had been in charge of obtaining the license; he’d taken Ned with him. She looked towards her friend, and Ned glanced down at the floor, nodding. 

“They’re right,” he said, quietly. 

“Fuck.” Cheri pushed her hands into her hair, closing her eyes tightly. “So it’s wait to possibly risk his life, or risk his life immediately, knowing exactly what will happen once we do.”

“Unfortunately,” Bruce replied. 

Cheri breathed outwards, through her nose, before she opened her eyes again, and looked at May. Peter’s aunt looked devastated. 

“I - I don’t want to put him at unnecessary risk,” she said, “but I can’t make this decision for you, Cheri. You… you need to think about what Peter would prefer.”

“The riskier option, then, obviously,” Harry said at once.

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, sounding exhausted. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he’d want us to try to fix him as soon as possible, even if it… it put him in immediate danger.” 

Cheri glanced at Tony, only to find he was glaring at the heart monitor beeping steadily at the side of Peter’s bed. He looked as though he wanted to punch it. 

“Tony?” Cheri prompted, softly, and Tony’s shoulders raised and lowered, before his expression shifted, a bit, as he turned towards her. 

“There isn’t any option here that might not result in his death,” he said, “which means that… we might as well pick the one with the more immediate result. I’m positive Peter would prefer that.” 

Cheri managed to swallow, wishing that she wasn’t the one who actually had to give the two doctors who were watching her permission to drain her husband of foreign blood in the hopes that his heart would react quickly enough to save his life by producing his natural blood. 

Still, hearing what everyone else who knew Peter extremely well thought he might want… it helped. And Cheri knew for a fact that they were all right; he wouldn’t want them to waste any time. 

She looked at Bruce and Stephen. “Then we’ll try the exsanguination method,” she said, hoping she sounded calm, even though her heart was racing. 

Bruce nodded, and glanced at Stephen, who was already standing. “Well do this methodically,” he said. “A bit at a time, to give his heart a chance to produce blood on its own. Just a single cut, the same vein the transfusions went into.” 

“It won’t be an easy process by any means,” Bruce continued, “and it will take some time, but if… if it works, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be awake within the hour.” 

_An hour._ Cheri had to close her eyes again, and she felt Harry reach over to help support her. 

“It’ll be better if… if everyone waits elsewhere,” Stephen said. “I know that the waiting is the worst part, but Bruce and I will be able to concentrate easier if we’re alone here to work.”

“Makes sense,” Tony said, after a momentary pause. He walked over to the door, and pulled it open. “Come on, everybody. The sooner they can get started, the sooner Peter will wake up.” 

May stood, and was the first to leave the room, but only after leaning over and placing a kiss on Peter’s forehead. She reached out to squeeze Cheri’s hand as she passed by her. Ned followed, after a second, looking helpless. Harry started to go after him, but Cheri didn’t move when he tried to pull her along with him. 

“Cheri?” he asked, tugging gently on her hand. “C’mon.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said. 

“Cheri -”

“This was my choice,” Cheri interrupted, her eyes fixed on Peter. “I’m not leaving him, not when things could go badly. I won’t.”

“Cheri, you shouldn’t be here for this,” Bruce said. “It isn’t going to be pretty.”

“I don’t care,” Cheri responded. She pulled her hand from Harry’s, and went over to sit down in the chair May had vacated. “I’m not leaving him.” 

“Don’t try to argue with her,” she heard Harry say, maybe to Tony. “She isn’t going to change her mind.” 

Cheri did her best to block out everything aside from herself and Peter’s face after that. She decided that she wasn’t going to stop looking at him until color returned to his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. She took his hand in hers, using it as a sort of anchor to keep her focus on him, even though she was aware of movements made by both Bruce and Stephen as they went about their task. 

_“Blood pressure is decreasing again.”_

_“Yes, well, it’s supposed to, isn’t it? Keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn’t drop - wait, is it -?”_

_“It’s already rising again. His heart must be working at three times the normal rate to produce blood that quickly.”_

_“The heart monitor -”_

_..._

**7:45 PM**

_..._

_“No, wait, it’s regulating, look.”_

_“Blood pressure is normalizing. Seal off that vein.”_

_“Done. Those are the numbers we like to see in relation to Peter.”_

_“Yes, they are. Thank God.”_

_“Cheri? He’s going to be okay.”_

_“Do you hear that, Pete? You’re okay. Wake up, please.”_

Peter’s eyelids fluttered, and he inhaled sharply, finding that he was impeded by an oxygen mask. He reached up to pull it off, but found that his right hand was presently occupied. 

He forced his eyes open fully, and attempted to focus, having a feeling that Cheri was somewhere close by. He needed to see her, needed to talk to her and apologize for their fight. That was what he’d been planning on doing, before... 

_Before what?_

“Pete, it’s all right.” That was her voice again. He’d _known_ he’d heard her, right before he woke up. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You need to relax, though, because you just… your heart just produced an insane amount of blood in, like, less than three minutes.” 

_My heart did what?_

“Relax,” he heard Cheri soothe once more, and a hand passed over his hair. “You’re all right, now.” 

Peter swallowed, and tried to speak, wanting to know what exactly had happened. The only noise he managed to produce was a weak croak, and Cheri hummed, quietly. 

“I’ll get you some water,” she said. “Don’t move.”

Peter elected to do as she asked, finding that, as he became more aware of himself, almost every part of his body ached horribly. He closed his eyes again, finding it was easier to ignore the pain everywhere if he wasn’t blinking in the bright light of wherever he was. 

“Here,” he heard Cheri say. “There’s a straw, so you don’t choke.” Said straw prodded gently at his lips, and Peter leaned up a little to swallow down some water. The cool liquid was extremely welcome, and he drank it down greedily. 

“Careful,” Cheri said, lightly. Peter was glad that she sounded the tiniest bit amused. 

He relaxed back again, and listened as she set the cup of water down somewhere nearby. Her hand returned to his; he followed the movement of her thumb across his knuckles in his mind. 

“You worried the hell out of all of us,” she murmured. “It’s too soon, now, to ask you any questions, and we aren’t even sure you’ll remember anything that happened, but… you were shot, Pete. While you were on your way here, to the Compound. The bullet grazed your femoral artery, and there was a scary hour where the blood transfusions you were given weren’t… weren’t doing anything, for you, so we took a risk, and got the normal B positive blood back out of you. Your heart reacted almost immediately, thankfully, and reproduced _your_ blood in a matter of minutes. You should’ve heard the heart monitor, it was going nuts.”

Peter had furrowed his brow. He’d been shot? He couldn’t remember that happening at all. He thought back, and decided that the last thing he could remember clearly was leaving the apartment, after talking to Ned and Harry. Where had he been, when he’d been shot? More important, he supposed, _who_ had shot him? 

“We don’t have any idea who it was,” Cheri said, reading his mind. “Steve and Bucky got to you, first, and based on how much blood you’d already lost, they figured you’d been laying there for at least a minute. Tony’s going to get in touch with the NYPD, see if they can canvas the area for witnesses.” 

“Where?” Peter managed. 

“I don’t know, exactly,” Cheri admitted. “I’ve been too worried about you to ask logistic questions about where you were shot and what’s going to happen next to catch whoever it was.” 

Peter turned his head slightly, in the direction of her voice. He smiled a little when he felt lips brush across his forehead. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he heard her whisper. 

The door opened; Peter recognized Bruce’s footsteps. 

“His oxygen looks normal,” the doctor said. “We’ll take him off the mask.” 

That was a relief. The elastic was making his ears itch. 

Within a few minutes, the oxygen mask was off of him, and Peter decided that he was willing to open his eyes again, for the sake of seeing his wife. His gaze found her almost as soon as he was finished blinking in the lights of the room, and he smiled again. 

“Hi,” he whispered, and Cheri managed a watery smile in response. 

“Goof,” she said, and Peter saw a few tears slip down her cheeks as she bowed her head, pressing her lips to the back of his hand. “God. You - I didn’t -”

“Hey,” Peter interrupted, squeezing his hand around hers, as best as he could. “I’m here, okay? I’m all right.” 

Cheri nodded, and Peter wished that he could hold her, but figured that he probably could barely move his arms, let alone comfort her in the process. 

“Come here,” he suggested, all the same, and shifted over on the bed as much as he could, to make space for her. 

“Pete -”

“Please,” he insisted, and after a moment, Cheri joined him, curling up onto her side, facing him. Peter reached across with his opposite arm, and passed his fingers through her curls, grateful to feel her right beside him, radiating warmth. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said after a minute of silence. 

“Don’t be,” Cheri said at once, lifting herself up onto her elbow. She shook her head, setting her hand lightly on his chest. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Peter replied. “If I hadn’t argued with you - if I’d just _gone_ with you -”

“Queens, stop,” Cheri sighed. “I already did this to myself, and it really didn’t… it didn’t help. We were both idiots, and that’s the end of it.” 

Peter saw the expression on her face, and elected not to argue. She really had a point, after all; they’d both participated in the fight, and neither of them had been willing to hear the other out. If they’d done the thing that they always claimed to try to do, _talk to one another,_ maybe the whole event could have been avoided. 

He exhaled, and nodded. Cheri relaxed a bit. She leaned over, and kissed him, gently, before settling back down again, her hand resting directly over his heart. 

“Get some more rest,” she suggested, softly. 

Peter decided not to argue with that, either, and allowed his eyes to drift closed one more. 

**August 4th, 2025 - New Avengers Facility, Somewhere in Upstate New York, USA - 5:43 AM**

“Figured your bruising would be gone,” Bruce commented, as he pressed his fingers gently along Peter’s side. He lowered the clean shirt that he’d changed into, after waking up again about a half-hour ago. “How do you feel?” 

“Okay,” Peter said. “My leg hurts.”

“Yeah, well, a bullet did go through you,” Bruce agreed. He rested his hand on the edge of the sheet. “May I?” 

Peter nodded, and Bruce flipped the sheet back, to fully reveal his injured leg. He began to unwrap the bandages there, and Peter looked at Cheri, who was sitting in a chair next to his bed, looking as though she were about to fall asleep. 

“You should go downstairs,” Peter said to her, and Cheri blinked a few times, lifting her head. 

“I’m all right,” she said through a yawn. 

Peter frowned, but didn’t press the issue further. Instead, he returned his attention to Bruce, as a draft hit his leg, free of bandages, now. Bruce hummed, head tilted to the side. 

“Stitches look okay,” he said. "I could probably cut them out right now, actually, and the wound would be healed over, but we won’t risk it.” He looked at Peter. “Can you roll over for me? I want to check the entry wound.”

Peter clenched his teeth, and rolled over as far as he could without wanting to kill himself. Cheri stood and walked over to help support him, holding onto his shoulder to keep him in place. Bruce clicked his tongue.

“Still a little red,” he commented. “Probably’ll leave these stitches in for a few days. You can lay back down.” 

Cheri gently helped Peter do so, and he let out a quiet groan as he relaxed again, wincing a bit. Bruce had pulled over one of his portable x-ray machines, and he switched it on. 

“I’m gonna take a few pictures, to see about the femoral artery,” he said. “That’s the thing we really need to worry about, but if I’m right, it’s probably already healed itself.”

Peter nodded in agreement, and let Bruce manhandle him and his leg into the proper position to take the pictures. He kept his focus on Cheri while this was happening, frowning a bit as he took in her expression, shifting the sheet a little to provide himself with a bit of privacy, down below, even though his ass was still bared for the world to see. 

“You need to sleep,” he said to Cheri, who offered him a small smile. 

“I will when we’re done here, and you’ve eaten something,” she assured. “And maybe when someone else can come up here and keep you entertained.” 

At that exact moment, the door to the med-bay room opened, to reveal Ned. “Hey - whoa!” He clamped a hand over his eyes as his cheeks flushed. “Right. Good morning, Peter’s ass. I’d be lying if I said I expected to be greeted by you.”

“Stop personifying my ass,” Peter scolded, with a grin. “Hey, Ned. You sleep all right?” 

“Good enough,” Ned answered. He sidled into the room, still keeping his hand over his eyes as he did so. He held his other one out to help guide himself to the same side of the bed Cheri was on, almost running into the corner of it as he did so. 

“Corner,” Cheri said, helpfully, before he could, and Ned scooted sideways a few steps to avoid it. 

“Is it safe?” he asked after another moment. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “My ass is out of your sight.”

“Great,” Ned said, and lowered his hand. “I figured I could sit with you, so that Cheri can try to get some sleep.” 

“Thanks, Ned,” Cheri said, smiling at him, before she looked at Peter again. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter assured, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Cheri nodded, and leaned down to kiss him, before she patted Ned on the shoulder and walked around him to the door. She lingered there for a moment, and Peter gestured with his head for her to go. She did so, with a small smile, closing the door softly behind her. 

“All right,” Bruce said. “Pictures are processing.” He reached over, and retrieved a fresh roll of bandages from the steel cart he’d brought into the room with him. He started to rewrap Peter’s leg, and said, “Cheri was right in saying that you should eat something. I can send something up before I head out of here.” 

“You’re leaving?” Peter asked, and Bruce nodded. 

“I have a shift at the clinic later, and I want to get some sleep before then.” He finished with the bandage, and turned to the x-ray machine. 

Peter shifted a little. “Doc?” 

“Hm?” 

“Thank you,” Peter said. Bruce glanced at him, and Peter fiddled with the edge of the sheet as he flipped it fully back over himself. “It - I mean, it must have been a pain in the ass for you to have to come all the way here, and if I hadn’t been shot -”

“Peter,” Bruce said, and Peter looked at him, brow furrowed. Bruce offered him a smile. “Helping people is one of the things I’m good at and like to do, at the same time. It’s even better when it’s someone I care about.” 

Peter’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he smiled back, before nodding. Bruce turned once again to the x-ray machine, and huffed. 

“Yeah, I knew I shouldn’t even have bothered,” he said, lightly. “The thing’s completely healed already.” He shut the machine off, and scooted the cart up against the wall, crossing the room as he pulled off the gloves he’d been wearing. He tossed them into the garbage can near the counter, and then washed his hands. “Any preference on food?” he asked over his shoulder. 

“No,” Peter replied. “Although I guess breakfast would make sense.”

“Right,” Bruce agreed. He dried off his hands, turning to face the bed. “I’ll see what I can do. At the very least I’ll have someone bring up some Jello.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Peter said. 

Bruce nodded, and walked towards the door, speaking as he went: “Stephen will be up here later on to check on you again, but everything looks all right. If your leg starts to hurt more than it does right now, that’s normal; it’s just your body healing itself. Overall, I’d recommend more sleep, after you eat. It’ll help speed things along.”

“Basic biology,” Ned said, and Bruce nodded. 

“See you boys later,” he said, and then he exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Ned sank down onto the chair that Cheri had vacated, pulling out a deck of playing cards as he did so. 

“You wanna play?” he asked, and Peter smirked, but nodded. 

“If you think that you might finally beat me because I’m injured, guess again,” he said, watching Ned shuffle. 

Ned snorted. “Whatever.”

They played King in the Corner in silence for a while, only addressing one another to say that they were finished with their turns. After Peter had won four games in a row, Ned cursed under his breath, and threw down the cards he’d been holding. 

“I give up,” he announced. “You’re too good at this.” 

Peter grinned, scooping up the cards himself so that he could shuffle them. “I know,” he said. “I can play solitaire, it’s all right.” 

There was a knock on the door. “Ned?” came Steve’s voice through it. “Could you come get the door? My hands’re full.” 

“Coming!” Ned called, bouncing to his feet and crossing the room to the door. He opened it, and Steve walked in, carrying a platter. 

“Somebody order breakfast?” he queried. Peter grinned, and pushed the cards off of his lap as Steve carried over the tray. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at the array of food, which included scrambled eggs, some toast, and a bowl of freshly cut up fruit. “There was fresh fruit in the Compound?” 

“Shocking, I know,” Steve replied, “but I’ve been cooking a lot more, lately, and I like fresh ingredients.” 

“Super fresh,” Ned agreed, popping a piece of cantaloupe into his mouth as he retook his chair beside the bed. 

“I heard you and Bucky were the ones to find me,” Peter said to Steve, who slid his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Did - you didn’t see anything?” 

“No,” Steve said. He looked and sounded regretful. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Peter said at once. “I’m… I probably owe you my life, actually, so it -” He shrugged one shoulder, and poked at the scrambled eggs. “Y’know.” 

“It was really Tony,” Steve said, after a moment. “He got the alert that something had happened. Bucky and I were just in the right place at the right time.” He dipped his head. “I’m glad you’re all right, Peter.””

“Thank you,” Peter repeated, and he watched as Steve left the room again, closing the door once more. 

“Eat your food,” Ned instructed, after a moment of silence. 

Peter managed a smile, and scooped up some eggs on the fork he held. 

“So… I guess you and Cheri made up?” Ned asked, after a while. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I mean, I did almost die.” 

“And you apologized?” 

“I did. She told me not to.” Ned clicked his tongue, and Peter glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Just… that seems to be the problem, when it comes to your guys’ fights,” Ned said, and he hunched into himself a little when Peter raised both eyebrows instead. “I mean that you always fight, right, and then… neither of you ever ask the other to apologize, to own up to your mistakes. Maybe if you did that, if you guys gave each other the chance to take accountability for what happened, what made you fight in the first place… maybe you’d stop making the same mistakes.” 

Peter blinked a few times, staring at his friend, feeling a little dumbfounded. Ned glanced up at him again, when he didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, it -” Peter looked away, feeling stupid. “Ned, I think you just… broke down one of the biggest issues of marriage to its bare essentials.”

“I did?” Ned questioned, sounding confused. “I just… drew a conclusion based on what I know about how you and Cheri fight and make up. It was kind of obvious.” 

“You’re right,” Peter agreed, quietly. “It _is_ obvious.” 

In their efforts to not blame each other, Peter realized he and Cheri had done nothing but keep themselves from being held accountable for the things that _had_ gone wrong, and led to fights in the first place. Because Cheri didn’t blame him for his work as Spider-Man, Peter had never been able to really understand what he was harming in the process. And when he wouldn’t let Cheri blame herself for not asking him to be around more often than he was, Peter wasn’t letting her realize that she _needed_ to ask for things, or else nothing would ever change. 

“Shit,” he sighed, suddenly not very hungry. “I need to talk to her.”

“She’s asleep, dude,” Ned pointed out. “Let her get some rest, and then you should do the same thing, after you finish your food.” He cringed. “Cheri will hit me if she knows I only let you get away with eating maybe a quarter of it.” 

He had a point on that, too, Peter knew. So, despite the fact that he didn’t _want_ to finish eating, he did so, cleaning his plate of eggs, putting down all four slices of toast, and with Ned’s help, he even finished off the bowl of fruit. 

“Good,” Ned concluded, taking the tray from him once he’d also finished the cup of milk that Steve had brought with the food. “Now, get some more sleep. Remember what Doc said about that being the thing to help heal you.” 

Peter frowned a bit. “Is that what he said?” he asked, and Ned shrugged. 

“More or less,” he said. “I’m gonna take this downstairs, and then I’ll be back.”

“Ned, you don’t need to sit in here while I’m sleeping,” Peter told him. 

“No,” Ned said, “but I’m going to anyway.” He grinned at Peter, and Peter smiled back, after a moment. “Be right back.” 

Peter watched Ned leave the room, before exhaling, and relaxing back against the pillows behind him. His leg was itching beneath the bandages, and he wished he had a chopstick to scratch it with. 

Doing his best to ignore it, he closed his eyes, and let his thoughts drift until he wasn’t thinking of anything at all, and was asleep. 

**12:42 PM**

Peter woke up again a few hours later, to find that Ned had been replaced by Tony. His mentor sat in the chair next to his bed, glasses low on his nose as he tapped away at a StarkPad. When Peter stirred, he glanced up, and smiled, reaching up to take off the glasses. 

“Hey, kid,” he greeted, setting glasses and StarkPad down on the table next to the bed. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Okay,” Peter replied. He stretched out the knee of his injured leg, and hissed at the pain that came with the movement. “Ugh. Life would be so much easier if pain meds actually did anything for me.” 

Tony looked sympathetic. “I can try to figure something like that out, if you want?” he offered. “I don’t know much about pharmaceuticals, but I can give it a shot.” 

Peter offered him a small smile, and shook his head, pushing himself up a bit so that he could readjust the pillows behind him. Tony helped, fluffing them a bit, and Peter settled back down against them, glad to be a bit more upright. 

“That’s okay,” he said. “Harry’s already been trying to figure it out.”

“Ah.” Tony crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair. “Right. I learned recently that he has a bit of a background in medicine.”

“He took a few college courses,” Peter confirmed. “There weren’t many environmental sustainability classes at ESU, so he had to fill up his credit requirement in other ways.” 

“Mm.” Peter tilted his head to the side, taking Tony in. Why did he look annoyed? 

“You still don’t like Harry,” he concluded, and Tony blew a raspberry. 

“After what he did, to you, and to a section of Manhattan?” He shook his head. “Why should I?” 

“Because you know that it wasn’t really his fault,” Peter said. When Tony scoffed, Peter shook his head. “It wasn’t. After what he said in court, about what his dad did to him… how could you think that Harry ever had any control over his actions?”

“He had plenty of control over the decisions he made,” Tony insisted. 

“Maybe,” Peter said, after a moment, “but I think those decisions were influenced by what he went through as a child, and so I won’t blame him for them. And you shouldn’t, either.” 

Tony did not respond. Thankfully, however, before Peter had to think of more to say, the door to the room opened, and Cheri poked her head inside. She smiled, brightly, but tiredly, when she saw that Peter was awake, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Hi,” she said, walking over to the bed. Peter held out his hand to her, and she took it, holding it between both of hers. “How’re you feeling?”

“Not bad,” Peter said. “Sleep helps.” Cheri nodded, and he tilted his head a little, examining his features. “You still look tired.”

“I am,” Cheri admitted, “but I’m all right.” She looked at Tony. “What’re we going to do about figuring out who did this?” 

“I don’t want to know,” Peter said, just as Tony was opening his mouth to respond. They both immediately gaped at him, and Peter lifted one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Of course it does,” Tony said at once. “We can find whoever it was, and put the shit-head in prison.”

“Or piss off whoever sent them, and make things worse,” Peter replied. “I don’t…” He sighed, quietly, and toyed with the edge of the sheet that covered him. “Maybe I should take this opportunity to back off from Spider-Man work for a little while.”

“What?” Cheri and Tony asked at the same time. 

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “Just - everyone’s going to think Spider-Man _died,_ right, because of how much blood I lost? So maybe… maybe we should… I don’t know, make the most of it.” 

“Pete, I - I think the best choice is for you to get back to work as soon as possible, actually,” Tony said, after he and Cheri exchanged a look. “Just to show that you’re stronger than they obviously believed you to be.” 

Peter furrowed his brow, thinking it over. Maybe Tony had a point. If Spider-Man seemingly returned from the dead, after basically losing all his blood, that would send a very strong message to the bad guys that littered New York. 

He looked at Cheri. “Do you agree?” 

He watched as his wife’s shoulders raised and lowered, and she looked down at their joined hands. “I’d - I’d be lying, if I said that I… I wanted you back out there, especially so soon, but it… I think he’s right,” she said, after a moment. She lifted her gaze again, and met Peter’s. “I know that it makes sense, for you to show everyone, especially the criminals, that you won’t be taken out so easily, but it… I do wish that maybe we could just… call it quits, y’know? Take the chance, let Spider-Man… stay dead.” She offered him a small smile. “But that can’t happen, for obvious reasons, and so I’ll let you decide for yourself.”

Peter heard the last part of her speech, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to focus on anything but the middle section. Had she really just asked him to let Spider-Man die? The year prior, she’d been horrified when he’d considered trying to get rid of his Spider-Man-based capabilities. Now she was admitting that she didn’t want him to be a superhero anymore? 

“Cher,” he began, gently squeezing her hand, “are you - you’re saying that you’d prefer it if I wasn’t Spider-Man anymore?” 

Cheri immediately looked guilty. “I’m sorry -”

“No, it -” Peter shook his head. “Tell me. Please. What - I mean, besides the obvious, what made you change your mind?” 

Cheri glanced towards Tony, after a moment of silence, and Peter followed her gaze. Tony put up his hands, and stood. 

“I’ll let you talk,” he said, heading for the door. “Come get me if you change your mind.” 

He left the room, the door closing behind him, and Peter turned back to Cheri. 

“Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Please.”

Cheri let out a shaky exhale. “I just - it isn’t necessarily that I _want_ you to _have_ to stop,” she murmured. “I just wish that… that it wouldn’t… take up so much of your time.” She shook her head, and sniffled a little. “I know that’s probably super selfish of me, but I - I want you to be home when I get home, and I want us to be able to go to bed together, and wake up together. I want you to be able to go to class without feeling exhausted, and have enough free time to… to do everything you need to do to pass.” 

“That doesn’t sound selfish to me,” Peter said. “It sounds like you want me to be able to do normal things, without having to worry about Spider-Man as much as I do.”

“Which is selfish,” Cheri said, “because that means… y’know, taking him away from the people of New York who probably need him at all hours of the day.” 

Peter smiled a little. “That’s true,” he said, “but I know, too, that the NYPD are definitely capable of helping them just as much as I do.” He adjusted his grip, so that he was more holding her hand, than her holding his. “Let’s make a deal: as soon as I help the police catch this Tombstone guy, I’ll… come up with a schedule.” 

“A schedule,” Cheri repeated, and Peter nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, where I say I’ll go out between so-and-so times, and be back home by whatever other time.” He met her eyes. “Cher, I want to be home at night, too. And I’m glad you finally said that that’s what you want.” 

“You are?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“Ned brought up an interesting point about our fights,” he said, “which was that the two of us never let the other apologize, so we never really learn what it was we did wrong in the first place. I realized that I… I’ve never let you really tell me what it is that you’d like to change.” 

Cheri blinked at him. “And I’ve… I’ve never been able to let you figure out what you focusing so much on Spider-Man has hurt between the two of us,” she concluded, and Peter nodded. She hummed, quietly, and glanced away, her brows coming together. “And Ned was the one to point this out?”

“Surprised me too,” Peter assured. 

Cheri let out a quiet laugh, and looked at him again. “Okay,” she said. “New rule: we _always_ let each other apologize, so that we can hold ourselves accountable for the things that we did wrong, and really come to terms with why they were wrong in the first place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Peter replied. He offered her a smile. “Can I kiss you, now, to seal the deal?” 

Cheri grinned back, and leaned over him, so that all Peter had to do was lift his chin a little, for their lips to meet. 

“I love you,” he said, softly. 

“I love you, too,” Cheri responded, resting her forehead against his. 

Peter frowned a bit as she leaned away fully, and moved around the bed to take the chair that Tony had vacated. “Cheri?” he began, and she hummed questioningly. “Who’s watching Griffin?” 

“He’s a cat, Queens,” Cheri said, settling down in the chair. “I imagine he’s watching himself.”

“He has enough food?” Peter asked, and Cheri grinned at him. 

“He’s fine, Pete,” she assured. “Harry said he and Ned left quite a bit out before they came out here to the Compound.” 

Peter leaned back against his pillows, and didn’t ask any further questions. He was positive, however, that when they returned to the apartment, they’d find that Griffin had scattered whatever food had been left out for him all over the place, and that he’d torn up the couch in an act of vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about science, but since Peter's a radioactive spider guy, I guess that doesn't matter so much.


	5. October 26th and 27th, 2025

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... been a victim of some sorry circumstance that was committed by somebody else's hand...

**October 26th, 2025 - 529-531 W 46th St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 2:31 AM**

Peter hopped from one streetlight to another as he rounded the outside of the warehouse that the police had surrounded on all sides with various vehicles, including squad cars and vans. He’d been instructed by Chief Carr to find a quiet way into the building, to try and get a gauge of the presence of Tombstone’s men from the inside. Peter had assured her that he’d try his best, and thus was circling the warehouse, looking for an open window, a vent, anything that he might be able to use to get in. 

He found what he was looking for on the eastern side of the building. He quietly jumped onto the brick wall, and climbed up to the vent that looked barely big enough for him to fit through, gingerly slipping inside it to avoid making noise. He closed the vent silently behind him, and crawled his way up it, to the next way out. He paused over it, peering through the thin slats, into the room below. 

It was a hallway, he recognized immediately, and he frowned to himself inside his mask when he didn’t see anyone. 

“Karen,” he whispered, “thermal scan.” 

His HUD immediately shifted to a black-and-white image of the scope of the hall below him, but no red figures representing humans giving off heat signatures appeared. Peter’s frown deepened. Where were the countless men that George had figured would be inside the building, considering the information that had been gathered on Tombstone’s location? 

Peter decided to take a risk. He pushed open the vent, and scooted out of it until he was hanging from the ceiling of the hall instead. He turned his head, looking up and down it both directions, just to double-check that there was no one around for him to worry about, before flipping silently to the tiled floor. He stood up straight, glancing between the three doors that lined the hall, wondering if he should try opening any of them. His hearing wasn’t picking up anything, which seemed odd; if there were people in the building, he _had_ to have been able to hear them, even if they were doing barely more than breathing. 

“What the hell,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Peter, scanners are indicating that the building is completely empty,” Karen said in his ear. “But there also seems to be a sub-level, beneath the warehouse proper.”

 _Sub-level._ Peter closed his eyes, letting his hearing extend, so that he was listening for whatever might have been happening beneath his feet. Almost immediately, his ears were flooded with the sounds of metal tools clanging, people chattering amongst themselves, and… an engine revving? 

“Motorcycle,” he concluded, knowing that it was an M.O. of Tombstone’s men to use the two-wheeled vehicles as modes of transportation, since they were more maneuverable than cars. “Karen, how do I get down there?” 

“I’m not seeing any obvious entrances throughout the building,” his A.I. answered. “It must be a hidden entrance, and I’d assume on the outside, if they’re working on motorcycles.” 

“Right,” Peter sighed. He hopped back up onto the ceiling, and crawled back into the vent. He shimmied back the way he’d come, and out into the cold night air again, shooting a web towards the closest streetlight so that he could get back to the front of the warehouse, where the police sat patiently, in their dark, silenced vehicles, waiting for his signal. 

He jumped down onto the street once he was within sight of where George was behind a van, looking stoic. She frowned at him as he approached. 

“What?” she asked, and Peter shook his head. 

“They’re beneath the building,” he said. “I could hear them down there. I don’t know where the entrance is, though, but it has to be outside; they have motorcycles under there.” 

Chief Carr gazed at him, a brow raised skeptically. “You’re suggesting they have a secret entrance to an underground hideout,” she said. 

“And they’re using the warehouse as a front, yeah,” Peter replied. 

“Christ.” George rubbed at the space between her eyebrows. “So, what?” she asked. “We have to just wait out here until someone makes an appearance?”

“I can try to find the entrance,” Peter said, “but it’s going to be well-hidden.” He looked at the warehouse, frowning to himself. “I can’t say how long it’ll take. It might be easier _to_ wait.” 

George sighed. “Well, at least we have the element of surprise on our hands, still,” she said. “It didn’t sound as though they know we’re out here?” Peter shook his head, and she clicked her tongue. “Fine,” she said, and she brought up the walkie talkie she was holding. “All units, we’re going to set up a watch; Tombstone’s gang is hiding beneath the building, and we’ll need to keep an eye on the warehouse until we can find our way in.” 

“Copy,” came a voice through the radio. “Who’s watching what, Chief?” 

Peter moved away from her, and scaled a building across the street from the warehouse, perching on the edge of the flat roof, staring at the brick building. He’d expected the whole affair to have ended much quicker; he’d get inside, take out a few, before signaling for the police force to barge their way inside and help with the rest. He hadn’t truly expected to find Tombstone, there; obviously, he probably had more than one hide-out, but this would have at least been something. 

Now, though, they were being forced to wait. At least it couldn’t take _too_ long for the entrance to the underground area to be revealed; all they needed was for someone to leave, or for someone to show up. Considering what they knew, a shipment of the ‘rock candy’ drug that Tombstone’s people produced would be going out around five, so they only had a few hours to wait for that. 

Unless they were wrong. 

Peter sincerely hoped that they weren’t wrong, because he’d been the one to figure the information about the shipments out through some reconnaissance he’d done before interrupting a drug hand-off that had been occurring between two separate groups of Tombstones lackeys. 

He exhaled, wearily, and considered calling Cheri. She was probably asleep, he concluded, and she did know that he’d been planning on being with the NYPD to raid the hideout. Still, she deserved to know that things were going to take longer than expected, so he sent her a text, explaining that he probably wouldn’t be home when she woke up, but not to worry if he wasn’t, and that he’d tell her everything when he saw her. 

After that, he settled in for the waiting period, wishing that he could risk getting a nap in, but knowing that he needed to stay awake, just in case whoever was on watch missed something he might see with his heightened senses. 

He heard the gun cock behind him maybe half-a-second after his senses prickled, alerting him of imminent danger. The end of the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. 

“Hello, Spider-Man,” an unfamiliar voice growled. “Let’s chat.” 

Peter grit his teeth, cursing himself for not having been more aware. “Mr. Lincoln?” he queried, electing to refer to Tombstone by his real name; he’d come to learn that doing this took power away from the bad guys, almost as though he were removing their masks. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve become pretty acquainted with quite a few of your people, over the last few months. It was about time you came to speak to me yourself.” 

Tombstone huffed, and Peter’s head tilted forward as he pressed the gun against it more firmly. “I could kill you right here,” Lincoln growled. “You realize this?” 

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have,” Peter concluded. “I assume that it was you who tried to have me killed in August, right? Maybe you’re afraid I’ll just come back again.”

“You think I’m afraid of a little twerp like you?” Tombstone demanded, and Peter scoffed. 

“I’d be afraid of someone who came back from the dead.” 

He felt the gun shudder against the back of his skull for maybe ten more seconds, before it dropped away. Peter carefully turned around, staying low in a crouch, so that he could face his assailant. He was a little shocked by what he found.

He’d known that Tombstone, or rather, Lonnie Lincoln, was albino. Still, though, he hadn’t expected the man to be quite so… shrimpy. The guy couldn’t have been taller than five foot seven, and he looked as though he weighed maybe 150, soaking wet. The hand that held onto the pistol that had been pressed to Peter’s head moments before looked awkward around the weapon, and Peter could see that Lincoln’s grip was weak. A swift kick at his wrist would knock the gun away without any trouble. 

All the same, his instincts were warning him not to risk such a thing, and so he didn’t. Instead, he remained crouched down, looking closely at Tombstone, wondering how in the world someone like him could have risen to so much power in the crime world. 

The answer came to him within moments of staring at the guy, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. 

“How long did it take you to draw Fisk’s loyalists over to your side, after Richard was put in prison?” he asked, lightly. 

“You should be able to guess that,” Tombstone grumbled in response. “Considering all that’s happened, recently. You were able to deduce easily enough who was responsible for the rise in crime.” He scowled at Peter. “Did you enjoy your break?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish it had been longer,” Peter answered. “Can I ask, though, why we’re only just now having this conversation?” 

“Because,” Tombstone began, and he raised the gun again, although Peter wasn’t really expecting to be hit by any bullets that came out of it, not after seeing how awkward it appeared to be for Lincoln to hold the thing, “you are going to do something for me, or I’m going to cut this conversation extremely short.” 

Peter clicked his tongue. “And do I get anything else out of completing this mystery task?” he queried, politely. “Like, say, oh, I don’t know, you quit it with the drug distribution?” 

Lincoln bared his teeth in what was surely meant to be a menacing smile, but Peter was merely creeped out by the fact that it seemed his teeth had all been filed into the same square shape. Tombstones. 

“We’ll have to see,” Tombstone said. 

“Tell me what you want,” Peter said, with every intention of jumping down to the police presence below and informing them that Tombstone was up on the roof the minute they were done chatting. 

“There’s someone I need to find, and get in contact with,” Lincoln said. “Joseph Robertson. Everyone calls him Robbie.” 

Peter’s HUD was flooded with information as Karen immediately began to run the name through all the databases the A.I. had access to. Peter, however, ignored it for the sake of continuing to look at Tombstone. 

“What do you want him for?” 

“We’re old friends,” Tombstone responded, casually. “I have a debt I’d like to repay him.” 

Peter cocked his head to the side. “Is _debt_ a euphemism for _murder,_ Lonnie?” he queried. “Because, and, y’know, this is just me, speaking from a morality standpoint, I don’t think I can condone that.” 

Tombstone scowled at him. “Did you know that you talk a lot?” 

“It’s one of my charms,” Peter answered. “Sorry, Lincoln, but I have to assume that you want me to bring this Robbie guy to you so that you can kill him, which would just mean bigger problems for everyone involved.” He stood. “So, instead, I guess, I’ll just have to let the police arrest you here and now, get you on the drug charges, and that’ll be the end of it.” 

He straightened up, with the full intention of striking out with his foot to knock the gun out of Tombstone’s hand. Imagine his surprise when a different hand clamped around his ankle, lifting him up off the ground. Peter cursed as Lincoln carried him over to the edge of the building, and dangled him there. Peter blinked down at the sidewalk far below. 

“And to think, I thought our talk was going so nicely,” Tombstone simpered, and then snorted. “Typical. I never took Fisk’s complaints about you seriously, Spider-Man, but I guess I can see why he had such a bone to pick. You’re stupid, and annoying, and that’s a bad combination for those of us who like to conduct business in this town.” 

Peter kicked his free leg, aiming for Tombstone’s wrist, but Lincoln’s grip didn’t even shift around his ankle. 

“What the hell are you?” he demanded, forcing himself upright to try and pull Tombstone’s fingers apart. Tombstone merely bounced his arm up and down a few times, forcing Peter back into his original position, his stomach lurching. 

“Exactly the right question,” Tombstone said. “Robbie did this to me. Have you ever heard of Diox-3, Spider-Man? Apparently, it makes you into what I am, if you fall into it.” 

“How did Robbie do this?” Peter asked, wishing that Lincoln would put him down, even if it meant getting thrown to the rooftop, or even dropped down to the sidewalk below. He thought he’d be able to shoot a web towards the closest building and save himself in time, if that were the case. 

“During college, the two of us worked for one of Osborn’s chemical plants,” Tombstone said. “Y’know, one of the ones that’s been shut down recently by the government for malpractice.” 

Peter did know; quite a few of Osborn’s properties had been reallocated to the city rather than Oscorp proper, mostly because of the internal investigation that had started with the release of Harry’s testimony. 

“We got into an argument, late one night, about something that had… gone down in high school,” Tombstone continued. “It ended badly. I fell into a collection of vials that contained Diox-3, and I came out like this.” He hefted Peter into the air, and tossed him away from the edge of the roof. Peter grunted as he hit the roof proper, and rolled a few extra feet, struggling to catch his breath. 

“A monster,” Lincoln growled, stalking towards him. “With no sense of control over my own strength.” 

“I get it,” Peter said, pushing himself upright just in time to avoid a kick that Tombstone aimed at him. He rolled up to his feet behind Tombstone, who spun around to face him again. “I know what it’s like, to have something happen to you, and not know… why, or what you’re supposed to do next. I get that it sucks, and I get wanting revenge on whoever or whatever did it to you in the first place.” He ducked beneath a punch, and flipped over backwards to put more space between the two of them. “But revenge never helps, Lonnie, believe me.” 

Tombstone did not respond, and Peter was forced to fire a web at his fist as it came towards him again. He jumped over Tombstone, pretty easily, trapping the fist against his shoulder. The break in motion upset Lincoln’s balance, and he stumbled with the movement, giving Peter a chance to strike out with his leg, to knock Tombstone’s out from beneath him. Once the man had hit the roof, on his back, Peter trapped him with more webbing, making sure to throw some electric-type in the mix, just in case. He charged it up with a practiced blinking pattern, one that Karen was programmed to recognize, and landed on his feet a few steps from where Tombstone lay trapped, all within the same three seconds. 

“It takes practice, to get used to things that you weren’t expecting to happen to you,” he said, looking down at Lincoln, surprised by the pity he was feeling. “But it takes something special to decide to put that stuff to good use, something that I don’t know if you have, but maybe I’m wrong, and you do.” Tombstone started to tear through the web, and Peter blinked. The electric web lit up, and Tombstone howled, before falling limp. Peter lowered his arms, sighing tiredly. “Maybe you can figure it out while you’re in prison.” 

**October 26th, 2025 - 420 E. 51st St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 12:31 PM**

“After months of work, I can’t believe it was over in a matter of minutes,” Cheri said, sitting down on the couch beside Peter, who hummed in response. “Was Chief Carr pissed?” 

“A little.” Peter lifted his head, looking over at her. “I think it was more for the sake of how much manpower she’d gathered, only for none of it to really be necessary, in the long-run.” 

“Not even to clear out the underground hideout?” Cheri asked, and Peter smiled a bit. 

“There were maybe fifteen men down there,” he said. “And they were not expecting for their base of operations to be intruded upon by anyone, let alone a police force of upwards of forty officers, as well as some SWAT guys.” He shook his head. “There wasn’t enough for them to do. We overestimated the strength of the group.”

Cheri sighed, and curled up into his side, smiling to herself when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. “Well, at least it’s over,” she said. “You said you kind of felt sorry for him. Why?” 

Peter exhaled, adjusting their position into something a bit more comfortable. “I mean, he was obviously just… a guy who’d never come to terms with what had happened to him,” he explained. “It made me feel bad, I guess. Everyone I know who had some sort of… physical change occur within them has been able to harness that change, come to terms with it, and put it to good use, including myself, because we realized it was better than the alternative.” He shrugged a bit; Cheri could feel the movement in his arms. “I don’t know, I guess it was just kind of sad that maybe Lincoln never got the chance to do that.” 

“Or maybe he just decided not to,” Cheri suggested. “Not everyone would elect to do the same thing you did with your abilities, Pete. You’re kind of special.”

She listened as he chuckled, a little. “Maybe,” he said. 

There was a moment of silence after that, wherein Cheri thought she sensed Peter drifting off. She knew that he needed the rest, considering he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, but she thought that they probably needed to talk about… well, what they’d already discussed, before.

“Pete?” she began, and he hummed again, questioningly. “You said that, once Tombstone had been caught, that you’d… you’d make up a schedule.” 

It was Peter’s turn to sigh. “And I’m going to,” he assured, softly. “I just want to sleep, first.” 

That was reasonable. “Okay,” Cheri agreed. “I’ll leave you alone.” She made to pull away from him, but he whined, tightening his hold around her. 

“Stay,” he said. “Please.” 

Cheri smiled a little to herself, and rested against his chest again. “Of course,” she murmured. 

**October 27th, 2025 - 420 E. 51st St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 6:41 AM**

Cheri finished pouring coffee into her travel mug, and then topped it off with the vanilla creamer they always had in the fridge, unless Peter wanted his life threatened. She screwed the lid on, and stepped out of the kitchen, flicking the light off as she went. 

She wasn’t expecting to find Peter waiting for her in the living room; she’d forgone waking him when she’d gotten out of bed almost a half-hour ago, considering how deeply he’d slept the night prior. The entirety of the previous day had been spent as a recuperation for him, and she’d known that he still needed the night to sleep, so she hadn’t pressed the topic of a schedule with him, even after his nap in the early afternoon. 

Because she wasn’t expecting to see him, she let out a startled gasp when she _did_ see him, sitting on the couch. He glanced over at her, looking apologetic in the yellow light from the lamp beside him. 

“Sorry to scare you,” he said. “You didn’t get me up.” 

“I figured you needed to keep sleeping,” Cheri replied, stepping towards the couch, her heart still thudding a bit more quickly than was normal. “What is it?” 

“We didn’t talk about the schedule, yesterday,” Peter explained, and Cheri smiled a little, relaxing further. She adjusted her grip on the travel mug, and walked the rest of the distance to him, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. 

“It’s okay,” she assured. “We can talk when I get home.” She glanced between his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” he answered, smiling back. He reached up and cradled her cheek in his hand for a moment, tracing his thumb beneath her eye. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad whatever it was happened.”

Cheri let out a laugh. She kissed him twice more, again on the lips, and then once on the forehead. “You were just you,” she told him, and backed away. “I’ll see you this afternoon. Try to get some more sleep before class.” 

“Have a good day,” Peter said as she turned to walk towards the door, stooping to retrieve her bag where she’d placed it on the floor nearby the night prior. 

“You too,” she said over her shoulder. 

“I love you.”

Cher smiled to herself, and glanced back at him fully. “I love you too.” 

**4:01 PM**

Cheri pushed her way into the apartment, shivering a bit within her coat. She turned to closed the door, dropping her bag on the floor in the same motion, and faced the living room as she tugged her coat off, hanging it and her keys up on their respective racks by the door. 

“Peter?” she queried aloud, wondering if he was back from campus yet. 

“Bedroom!” she heard him call back, and she raised an eyebrow, toeing off her boots and heading down the hall to their room. She paused in the doorway, and chortled when she saw him lounged out across their bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers. 

“Welcome home,” he greeted, grinning at her, and she snickered, stepping into the room, closing the door behind her to keep the cat from intruding. 

“What’s this about?” she asked, crossing the room and crawling onto the bed to join him. 

“Mm, just missed you, is all,” Peter answered. He sat up and helped her pull off her cardigan, before beginning to undo the buttons on her shirt. He met her gaze. “This okay?” 

“Of course,” she answered, tilting her head to the side. “Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think this was to… I don’t know, help me feel better about the fact that you’re not actually going to come up with a schedule for Spider-Man business.” 

Peter’s fingers didn’t falter, and he undid the last button. Cheri shrugged out of the shirt, and dropped it over the side of the bed, while Peter traced the strap of her bra. 

“I told you I’d come up with a schedule, and I’m going to,” he said. “I was thinking about it today. What if I did four hours on weeknights, and then five on weekends? Just ‘cause weekends are always worse, crime-wise.” 

“And what hours would these be?” Cheri asked, watching his eyes follow his fingers as they moved down the strap to the cup, moving along across the top of it. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s where I need your input.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I could go out _after_ you fall asleep, so you don’t even notice that I’m gone, or I could go earlier in the evening, and get back at a reasonable enough time where we can go to bed together, and stay in bed together.” He met her eyes again. “Whichever you prefer.” 

Cheri hummed, and leaned into his touch. “Well,” she said, even as his hand drifted down over her chest, to her stomach, and to the button of her slacks, “I’d - I think I’d rather us be able to sleep together all night.” 

“Okay,” Peter said. “So… the earliest I’d probably go out would be… I don’t know, seven or eight, and I’d try to be back by midnight.” 

“That’s pretty late,” Cheri murmured, helping him get her out of her pants, and subsequently her socks as well. She then pushed him onto his back, and straddled his hips, looking down at him. “Could we negotiate?” 

Peter’s hands found her waist, and she keened when he massaged the skin there. “Down to what?” he queried, sounding amused, perhaps by her sounds. 

“Three hours?” she asked, hopefully, and then for good measure, moved her hips against his in a way she knew made _him_ keen, which he did. 

“I don’t know,” he panted, after a moment. “Three hours isn’t much time to get anything done.”

“Oh, but it’s weeknights,” Cheri said, sticking out her lower lip just a little bit, in the slightest hint of a pout. “You said so yourself that the crime isn’t so bad, then.”

“I did not,” Peter retorted, raising his eyebrows as he gazed up at her. “Just that it’s worse on weekends!” For emphasis, he flipped her down to the mattress instead, and leaned over her. “Cher, three hours isn’t a possibility.” 

“Not even if that means there’s more time for us?” she asked, running her hand down his chest and to the waistband of his boxers. 

Peter inhaled, rather sharply, Cheri was pleased to note. “Unfortunately,” he squeaked, and then cleared his throat. “I mean, of course I’d like to be home with you more, but I don’t think three hours is very reasonable.” 

Cheri knew that he was right. Three hours gave him time to maybe stop some early-bird robberies, a drug deal or two, but definitely not enough time to do anything more. Part of the reason he spent so much time swinging around the city, she knew, was because he had to _wait_ for crimes to actually happen, and being out so often meant that he was ready for whenever it happened. If he was only out for three hours at a time, each night, the likelihood of anything of substance happening was small. 

She sighed, and withdrew her hand, rolling onto her back again. Peter settled down on his side next to her, resting his hand on her stomach. 

“I could do four hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and then three on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he suggested, after a moment of silence. Cheri turned her head to look at him, and he smiled a little. “Since I’m busiest with class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it makes sense.” 

“It does,” Cheri agreed, with a smile of her own. She reached up to thread her fingers into the hair on the back of his head, and pulled him down so that she could kiss him, before rolling them both back over, and smirking down at him. 

“It’s over, Spider-Man,” she teased. “I have the high ground.”

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” Peter whispered, and surged upwards to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I don't foresee this having a plot. It's just going to be a collection of stories straight of of Peter and Cheri's life together, I think. I hope that's okay with everyone.


	6. Onto 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, happy new year. May we all have our hopes, our will to try...

**January 1st, 2026 - 71 2nd Ave., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 1:12 AM**

Cheri stepped over where Ned was snoring away on the floor behind the couch in his and Harry’s front room. Peter was asleep on the couch proper, having conked out maybe half-an-hour prior. She didn’t know how the two of them had fallen asleep so quickly; there’d been no alcohol at their New Year’s get-together. 

She entered the hall, looking for Harry, and found the door to his bedroom cracked open, light pouring out into the dark hallway from beyond it. She walked up to the door, and knocked on it, gently, before pushing it open all the way. 

“Hey,” Harry greeted. He was sitting at his desk, typing away at his laptop. Cheri stepped up behind him, and draped her arms around his neck. 

“What’re you doing?” she asked him, not making sense of any of the things that he had pulled up on the screen. 

Harry hummed. “Calculations,” he explained. “I’m still trying to work out a painkiller that would actually do things for Peter. Doctor Banner thinks that it’d probably help Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, too, so I figured I’d actually  _ try _ to figure it out, rather than just mess around and hope I come up with something.” He exhaled, and leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on her arm. “So far, though, I haven’t really come up with a working sample.” 

“Hm.” Cheri leaned her head against his. “Have you been getting help from Doc?” 

“Some,” Harry said, “but it’s not easy without being able to test any of the things I’ve come up with. I’ve tried the obvious, like strengthening ibuprofen and Tylenol, but since I don’t want to accidentally kill Peter, I can’t ask him to take any of it.” 

“Is there any other way of testing it?” Cheri asked. 

“I could probably toss it into a sample of his blood or piss, see how the two interact,” Harry said, “but I imagine Peter’s blood is a pretty leery topic of conversation, after the fiasco in August.” 

Cheri closed her eyes for a moment, to force away the image of Peter lying bloodless in the med-bay bed he’d occupied while at the Compound. 

“It isn’t fun to think about,” she said, opening her eyes again, “but I imagine that if it meant he’d have a painkiller that worked for him, he’d be willing to give over a few pints.” 

“Pints?” Harry repeated, and Cheri blew a raspberry. 

“I know nothing about how blood is drawn.” 

Harry chuckled, and Cheri tugged on him. 

“Stop working,” she said. “Peter and Ned fell asleep, and I’m bored.” 

“What do you think I can do about that?” Harry questioned. 

“Literally anything at all,” Cheri answered. “Besides, it’s late. We should probably go to sleep, too.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Harry said, and he pushed his chair out from beneath his desk. Cheri let him go so that he could stand, and Harry stretched his arms up over his head. “Ugh, I should really invest in a standing-desk.” 

Cheri laughed out loud at that, and he glared at her until she stopped. She cleared her throat, grinning at him. 

“Let’s have some hot chocolate.” 

“It’s 1:30 in the morning,” Harry said. 

“Which is the  _ best time _ for hot chocolate,” Cheri retorted, and she exited his bedroom, gratified when she heard him following after her. 

**February 3rd, 2026 - Clove Cottages - 200 Rock Hill Rd., High Falls, NY, USA - 9:32 AM**

Cheri rolled over in bed with a content sigh, curling up against Peter’s side. He draped an arm across her in response, breathing outwards, fluttering some loose curls on the top of her head. He blinked his eyes open, and then nuzzled against those same curls. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, and she hummed in response, scooting in closer to him. 

“Last night was good, too,” she said, and Peter grinned. 

“Gotta agree with you on that one,” he replied, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “How many times? I lost count at three.”

Cheri giggled. “Six, maybe? I can’t remember, either.” She stretched out her legs, and let out a quiet, “Ooph.” 

“Seven?” Peter guessed.

“I’m recalling a seventh, yeah,” Cheri agreed. She leaned up, and settled down on his chest, looking at him. “How do you feel?” 

“Fantastic,” Peter answered, and then frowned. “Even though that llama bit me, yesterday.”

Cheri snorted. “I’d forgotten about that.” She wriggled a little bit, and Peter lifted his eyebrow, amused, when he felt her hand creeping beneath him. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Trying to see if the llama left a mark.” 

“Yeah, right,” Peter scoffed, and he rolled her onto her back. “You just wanted an excuse to touch my butt.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” Cheri replied, smirking up at him. Peter almost bit his tongue when she proceeded to prove this to him, and in retaliation, he ducked beneath the blanket and began blowing raspberries against her stomach. As was guaranteed, Cheri writhed against him in response, laughing uncontrollably. 

“Stop it!” she exclaimed, pushing at his shoulders. “You know I can’t - I can’t stop -!” She gasped for air, and Peter relented, poking his head out from under the blanket again, grinning at her. She scowled in response, but he knew that she didn’t mean it. “You know I can’t stand it when you do that.” 

“You love it,” Peter retorted, and then he rolled onto his back with a groan, folding his hands behind his head. “I could use some breakfast.” 

“Good thing there’s a menu,” Cheri said, reaching into the bedside table’s drawer for the menu that they’d stuck in there for easy access the day before. 

This trip was sort of their first anniversary celebration. Originally, they hadn’t planned on going anywhere, but then Cheri had ended up with more vacation days left in her schedule than she’d thought she’d have by February, and Peter didn’t have classes on Fridays. They’d, essentially, gotten lucky. Peter thought they were making the most of the happenstance. 

“Um.” Cheri had wrinkled her nose as she looked over the menu. “I don’t - none of this stuff sounds very good. ‘Organic granola’.” 

“Ew,” Peter agreed, and he plucked the menu from her hands, tossing it over his shoulder, before he wrapped his arms around her, and tugged her closer. “I could think of something else to eat,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. 

“I love the euphemism,” Cheri said with a grin, “but I really  _ am _ hungry.” 

“Ugh,” Peter sighed, but all the same let go of her. “Fine. Maybe there’s someplace nearby we can go.” He reached for his phone, which he’d somehow had to foresight to plug in before they’d gotten into their sensual activities the night before. “Well,” he said after a moment, “the good news is: we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“But I imagine that that’s also the bad news?” Cheri asked, and Peter nodded. She sighed. “Piss.”

“Organic granola it is, I guess,” Peter said, and set his phone back down. 

Cheri leaned up again, and traced her fingers over his abs. “Or we could go with your other suggestion,” she offered, meeting his gaze as she bit her lower lip. 

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that,” Peter agreed at once, and he rolled her over, kissing her as they went. 

His phone began to ring, just as he was kissing his way down her neck, and he groaned, pausing long enough to rest his head against her collar bone, before pushing himself up and reaching once more for his phone. “Hello?”

“Griffin threw up all over Ned’s rug,” Harry said from the other end, “which may or may not have been my fault, since I put the cat in his room when he started retching.” 

“Harry -”

“How do I get cat vomit out of carpet?” 

Peter exhaled, feeling his arousal, which had grown steadily over the last three minutes, completely disappear, despite the simplicity of the question. It was more the context that got him. 

He looked over at Cheri, who was already watching him, an eyebrow raised. “How does Harry get cat vomit out of a carpet?” he asked her, and Cheri rolled her eyes, but held her hand out for his phone. Peter passed it over, and then sat up, looking around for his boxers, which had been haphazardly tossed away the night prior. 

“I don’t know, just throw some bleach on it,” Cheri was saying into the phone when Peter retrieved his boxes from where they were flung over one of the bedside lamps. “Of course I don’t know if that works; we have hardwood floors in our apartment. No, Griffin never threw up on one of our rugs, we always managed to get him into his litterbox whenever he starts hacking.” There was a pause. “You probably fed him too much. We warned you about that, remember?” Another pause. “Well, I’m sorry if you have allergies, Harry, but you agreed to watch Griffin for us two weeks ago.” 

Peter shook his head to himself, grinning, and went into the bathroom to use the toilet, and brush his teeth, while Cheri continued to talk Harry through cleaning Griffin’s vomit out of Ned’s carpet. From what he could hear, Harry was on a time crunch; Ned had gone out for donuts, and would be back sooner rather than later. 

By the time he exited the bathroom again, Cheri had hung up. “Did he figure it out?” Peter asked. 

“Dunno,” Cheri answered. “Ned came home near the end, and I couldn’t hear anything over all the yelling.” She looked at him, and furrowed her brows. “You put your boxers on.”

“I didn’t want to walk around with my butt out,” Peter said. “Besides, someone has to answer the door when they bring our organic granola.” 

“Fair enough,” Cheri agreed. She stretched, releasing her original sound that often accompanied a stretch of such caliber, which was very reminiscent of a purr. It almost gave Peter enough desire to clamber back into bed with her, organic granola be damned, but he resisted, instead walking over to pick up the menu himself. 

“I’ll order, I guess,” he said, relieved to see that an assortment of fresh fruit also came with the granola. He looked at her. “What’re you going to do?” 

Cheri responded by exhaling a content sigh, and burying her face in her pillow, clearly intending to doze until the food arrived. Peter smiled to himself, and retrieved his phone from where it rested next to her on the bed, so that he could dial the front desk in the main building. 

When he’d finished placing the order, he settled down on the bed again, scooting in close to Cheri, even though he knew he’d be tempted to fall back asleep the moment he did so. He closed his eyes all the same, and then smiled to himself when Cheri shifted, then pressed a kiss to his nose a moment later. 

“Did you kiss my nose?” 

“It was right there,” she replied, lightly. 

Peter put an arm around her waist, and tugged her into his chest, kissing her as he did so. Cheri let out a soft breath through her nose, blowing warm air over Peter’s face, and he smiled through the kiss. 

“Do you ever think about how perfect everything seems to be?” he whispered. 

“Always,” Cheri replied, and rolled him onto his back, leaning over him as she continued their kiss. Peter’s hands shifted down her sides and to her waist, before moving around to her back, where they drifted lower. It was her turn to smile into the kiss as she leaned up into his touch. 

“Your skin is so soft,” Peter murmured. 

“Thank you,” Cheri laughed. “It takes a lot of work to keep it that way.” 

“Does it really?” Peter asked, genuinely curious. The expression on Cheri’s face was answer enough, and he let his head fall back against the pillow again. “Never mind.”

They kissed for several more minutes, before a knock sounded on the front door of their cabin, from the front room. Cheri willingly enough rolled off of him, and Peter got to his feet, jogging into the front room and to the door. He peered through the peephole, just to make sure it wasn’t anyone he didn’t want to open the door for, then undid the lock and pulled it open enough to poke his head out. 

“Good morning, Mr. Parker!” the man on the other side said, cheerfully. He held out the tray he was carrying. “Here’s your breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, taking it with one hand. “Have a good day.”

He started to close the door, only to have to stop when the guy said, “Having a nice stay?” 

“Yep,” Peter said. 

“Have you interacted with the llamas?” the man queried. “They love the granola, if you have any leftovers after you’re done eating.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter replied. He could hear Cheri moving around on the bed, obviously wondering what was keeping him. If he didn’t hurry, she’d get up, and any hope there might have been of morning sex would be out the window. “Thanks again.”

Without giving the guy a chance to say anything else, he hurriedly closed the door, locked it, and rushed back into the bedroom, tray held before him. 

“I’ve brought food,” he announced, setting the tray down on the foot of the bed. Cheri scooted around to it, and pulled the cover off, making a face at the bowl of granola, before plucking a grape off of the vine that was also on the tray, along with another bowl filled with other fruits. 

“Not bad,” she said after a moment, and Peter sat down beside her. He scooped up some of the granola, and sniffed it, making a face. 

“Organic is right,” he said, and Cheri chuckled. 

“Just try it,” she said. “For Harry’s sake. It’s the type of food he has to eat all the time.” 

Peter didn’t like that she had a point. “I’ll try it if you do,” he said.

Cheri brushed off her hands, and sat up, reaching for some granola herself. She held it up, and looked at him. 

“On three,” she said. “One, two, three.”

They both put the granola in their mouths, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of hesitant chewing as they crunched down on the stuff. Peter looked closely at Cheri, not wanting to be the first to spit the granola out; thus, he was mortified when she seemed to swallow the mouthful she’d eaten.

“Hm.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb, and shrugged. “Not too bad.” 

Peter had no choice but to swallow his granola as well. He shuddered, a little, and reached for a strawberry to get the taste out of his mouth. 

“Right,” he agreed. “Not too bad.” 

Cheri grinned at him, and then picked up the tray of food, moving it off to the side on one of the tables. Peter watched her do this, and then raised an eyebrow when she turned to look at him again. 

“Why’d you move it?” Peter asked. 

“So that we can finish what we started, before Harry called,” Cheri replied, and tugged him up the length of the bed to join her. Peter, who’d been hoping that was what she’d intended, went willingly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone gathered that chapter summaries are just short sections of lyrics from varying songs? Kudos prize to anyone who can name all the songs so far!


	7. March 2026's Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That means the test is ready. This is it...

**March 16th, 2026 - 420 E. 51st St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 2:42 PM**

“I think I got food poisoning,” Cheri groaned, sinking down onto the floor, and leaning back against the wall of their bedroom. Peter glanced over at her from where he was busy at his computer, and frowned a little. 

“Do you? From last night?” Cheri nodded weakly, holding her stomach. “You’ve never gotten sick from there before, though.” 

“I know, and I ordered what I always get,” Cheri replied. Her stomach churned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing for it to pass. Griffin butted his head against her leg, and she opened her eyes so that she could reach over and pet the cat. “Ugh. I do always get nauseous around my period.” 

She paused, mid-pet. There had been more to that sentence, but she had not been able to end it. Her period… it should have started already. She’d figured it out, prior to her birthday, so she could warn Peter about it. But… she hadn’t needed to. Because her period  _ hadn’t started yet. _

“Cheri?” Peter was still looking at her, concern on his face. “You okay?” 

“Y-yeah,” Cheri replied, blinking. She shook her head, and pushed herself off of their bed, moving slowly. Griffin scurried to get out of her way, disappearing under the desk, near Peter’s feet. Cheri breathed outwards. “I’m, uh. I think I’m going to get some water.” 

Peter kept his gaze on her for a moment longer before he nodded and turned back to his laptop. Cheri exited the bedroom, using the wall to support herself, and made her way down the hall to the living room and kitchen. She couldn’t remember Harry having come over, but there he was, sitting on the couch, laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. He grinned at her. 

“How’d last night go?” he asked, and Cheri lifted her shoulders. 

“Fine,” she said. “The knowledge that my life is fleeting has begun to settle in. I thought about it too hard, last night, and I started to cry. I felt bad for Peter, since he had to assure me that I was making it up.” 

She crossed the room and entered the kitchen, opening the fridge door to retrieve the jug of water. She pulled a cup from a cabinet, and filled it. Unprovoked, her stomach twisted, lurched, and bile rose up in her throat. Cheri gagged, and abandoned the jug of water, hurrying back across the living room to the guest bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet, and didn’t even mind that the toilet seat was raised as she crouched down next to it and threw up into the bowl. The vomit was yellow and sour in her mouth, and she was dry heaving after only about fifteen seconds. 

“Cheri?” She heard Harry suck in a breath, and then he was behind her, pulling her hair out of her face and holding it on the back of her neck. “Are you okay?”

“Food poisoning, I think,” she managed, spitting for a final time into the toilet. She then reached up and flushed it, and Harry let her hair go. She turned herself sideways on the cool tile floor until her back hit the wall, and she hung her head between her knees, inhaling slowly. She heard the sink running, and then Harry held a cup out to her. 

She accepted it, and took a sip. Bathroom water wasn’t so good, but it was better than the taste of the vomit. 

“I think that was the worst of it,” she said to Harry, who was watching her worriedly. 

Peter appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, then, looking slightly paler than normal. “You okay?” he asked, moving around Harry and crouching down next to her. 

Cheri nodded, and smiled at him. “I think that’s all I needed,” she said. “I’ll try to eat something later, though, to make sure I can keep it down.” 

Peter nodded, and helped her to her feet. Cheri finished drinking the water, and then rinsed her mouth out in the sink. “Thanks for holding back my hair, Harry,” she said, and he raised his shoulders. 

“You scared the hell out of me, running from the room like that,” he said. 

Cheri smiled again. “Didn’t want to throw up all over the living room.” She gestured to the toilet. “I think that’s the one time I’ve been grateful that the toilet seat was raised.”

Both Peter and Harry laughed, and Cheri felt much better. 

Still, that did not stop her from calling Megan later on, once she’d managed to get away from Peter by convincing him that she had to go pee at some point. She closed the guest bathroom door, and pulled her phone out, dialing Megan’s number. 

Her friend answered on the third ring with a casual “Yello?” that helped ease some of Cheri’s nerves. 

“Hey, M,” she greeted, wrapping an arm around her midsection as she leaned back against the counter. “Uh… I have a huge favor to ask you.” 

“Oh, intrigue,” Megan said. “I love doing favors, because I know you’ll repay them. What’s up?” 

“Could you… could you go to a drug store, or something, and pick up a… a pregnancy test for me?” Cheri closed one eye, not enjoying how the words ‘pregnancy test’ tasted in her mouth. 

“A…” Megan was quiet for a moment. “You think you're pregnant?” 

Cheri blew out a breath. “Well, my period was supposed to start two days ago, and this morning, I vomited for the first time in three years,” she said, trying not to sound snappish, although she suddenly felt very annoyed. “So you could say that there’s some concern.” 

“Uhm, okay,” Megan said. “I’ll go get you one from, like, Rite Aid or something. Definitely not a bodega.”

“Oh, Jesus, please no,” Cheri sighed. “I definitely don’t want to pee on a bodega pregnancy stick.” 

“All righty,” Megan said, and she sounded a bit more cheerful now. “I’ll be over in, like, half-an-hour, if traffic doesn’t suck. Have you said anything to Peter?” 

“No,” Cheri said. “I don’t - y’know. I want to have at least a pregnancy test to go off of first, before I say anything that might insight a panic.” 

“Don’t worry, _mon_ Cheri,” Megan said, and Cheri smiled a little. “It’ll all be okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” Cheri said. “Thanks, M.” 

“Yep!” 

The call ended, and Cheri slid her phone back into her pocket. She turned around, and looked at herself in the mirror over the sink for a moment, bracing her hands against the counter. She exhaled, slowly, and nodded to her reflection. It would be fine. No matter what, it would be  _ fine. _

True to her word, about thirty minutes later, Megan was standing outside of the apartment door, holding a nondescript white bag in one hand. Harry got to the door before Cheri did, and he tilted his head as he took Megan in. 

“What’s -?”

“Cheri invited me,” Megan responded. “Why’re you opening the door of their apartment?” 

“Because Peter’s busy, and Cheri locked herself in the bathroom,” Harry said, stepping out of the way of the door. “She didn’t say you were coming.” 

“No, but the poor baby’s sick, so,” Megan said, slipping into the apartment. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Harry agreed after a moment, closing the door again. “Uh, she’s -”

“I’m here,” Cheri said, appearing at his shoulder. She snatched the bag that Megan held and then hurried away from both of them back to the bathroom. Once inside, she closed the door, and broke into the box, moving over to the toilet. 

In the middle of the  _ process, _ there was a knock on the door. “What’re you up to in there?” she heard Harry ask from the other side. 

“Just give me a second,” Cheri said after a moment. She set the test down on top of the toilet, and stood, flushing. After she washed her hands, she set a timer on her phone for three minutes, and then braced her hands against the edge of the sink, feeling sick to her stomach again. 

The door opened, and she glanced over in that direction, through the mirror. Harry met her gaze, before his eyes drifted to the empty box and then the test where it sat on top of the toilet. He blew out a breath and pushed Megan into the bathroom ahead of him, then followed after her. He thankfully closed the door again, and then he looked at Cheri once more. 

Cheri exhaled, and turned back to her own reflection. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she murmured. “If it’s positive -”

“Why don’t we want it to be positive?” Megan asked. Horror crept in, and Cheri looked at her friend via the mirror instead, eyes wide. 

“Why?” she demanded. “Because I’m not ready to have kids! I only just got married last year, and I’ve barely been working for two. It - “ She cut herself off, and closed her eyes, breathing out harshly through her nose. “Fuck me.” 

“Well, it’s obvious someone has,” Harry said. Cheri responded by rearing back with her foot and landing a solid kick against his shin. Harry cursed, and bent down to rub it. “Jesus, it was a  _ joke. _ I thought you were on birth control.”

“I’m  _ supposed _ to be,” Cheri muttered, “but…” She trailed off, and cursed again. She’d known that the couple days she’d forgotten to take the damn thing were going to be a problem. She really needed to be better about remembering, especially considering how often she and Peter - well. 

She proceeded to do the math in her head, counting back to her last period. “It had to have been around our anniversary,” she decided, and then had to force away a smile at the reminder. She was supposed to be upset. 

“Well, I guess it’s fair that Peter didn’t use a condom, then,” Harry said, lightly. Cheri glared at him from behind the mess of curls in front of her face, and he sighed. “Cheri, it’s going to be fine.”

Cheri shook her head in response, and glanced at her phone, which had been resting on the counter top, as it buzzed. She swallowed, and looked towards the pregnancy test without moving. After a moment, Megan sighed, and scooted towards the toilet herself. She picked up the test, and glanced at it. Thankfully, her poker face was solid; Cheri had no idea what it said. 

“So?” Harry prompted. 

“No, don’t say it,” Cheri said, turning around and leaning back against the counter. She pressed her hands to her face for a moment and just breathed. After a moment, she felt a hand on her arm.

“Hey,” Harry began, gently. “It’ll be okay, kid, whatever it says. If it’s a negative, we can just pretend this never happened, and if it’s positive, then we’ll celebrate.”

Cheri lowered her hands and looked at him. “But what if Peter isn’t ready to be a dad?” she asked, quietly. 

“Oh, please,” Harry scoffed. “That is the  _ last _ thing you should be worrying about.” When Cheri merely gazed at him, Harry waved his hands. “You serious? You’ve  _ never _ talked about the subject of kids with him?” 

“Not… not like we meant it,” Cheri said, quietly. 

“Well, marriage wasn’t ever talked about, and that was because you always assumed it was a given, right?” Megan queried, and Cheri nodded after a moment. “So what if it’s the same thing, but with a baby instead?” Cheri did not respond, this time, and Megan held out her hands to either side, still holding the pregnancy test in one. “See?” 

Cheri let out a slow breath, and then held out her hand. Harry took it in his own, not complaining as she squeezed, tightly, grounding herself. 

“All right,” she whispered. “What does it say?” 

Megan smiled, and turned the test out to face them. “It’s positive,” she said, happily. “I’m betting five dollars right now that it’s a boy.”

Cheri’s grip tightened further on Harry’s hand. She felt dizzy, all of a sudden. Had Megan just said the test was  _ positive? _ There was no way. The whole thing was just a weird circumstance, a dream she was having, maybe. She couldn’t  _ actually _ be pregnant, right? 

She felt Harry take his hand from hers, but then it returned, settling down on her shoulder, which he squeezed. Cheri forced herself to look at her friend, who grinned at her. 

“You’re gonna be a mom,” he said, brightly. 

Cheri’s lip quivered, and then she let out a quiet laugh. “I’m gonna be a mom,” she repeated, and a smile grew on her face, as the idea settled in. Saying it out loud didn’t seem as crazy as she’d thought it would. It almost felt right. “I’m going to be a mom!” 

She grabbed Harry in a hug, pressing her face against his chest. Harry chortled, and hugged her back. “Yeah, see?” he prompted. “I knew you’d get there.”

Megan pressed into the hug herself, bouncing up and down on her toes. “I’m gonna be an aunt,” she said. 

They all laughed, and Cheri felt tears brimming at the corners of her eyes as she pulled out of the hug, looking up at Harry, who smiled at her, reassuringly. 

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Harry leaned over to open it, being the closest. Peter stood on the other side, and he made a face when he saw that all three of them were inside the tiny room. 

“There’s a party going on inside my own bathroom, and I wasn’t invited?” he queried, jokingly. The smile on his face faded a little, however, when he spotted the pregnancy test that Megan was holding. “Uhm -”

Cheri turned to take it from her, and then she scooted around Harry to get closer to Peter. She held the test out to him, and he took it after a moment, blinking. He looked down at it, blinked some more, and then raised his head. 

“This is positive,” he said, carefully. Cheri nodded in agreement. “And it’s yours?” She nodded again. “So… we’re -?”

“Yeah,” Cheri said, her grin growing. “What do you think?”

Peter gazed at her for a moment, before a grin of his own broke out on his face. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. Cheri wrapped her arms around his shoulders, smiling through the kiss. When Peter broke away, he rested his forehead against hers. 

“A baby,” he said, softly. “Do you think we’re ready?” 

Cheri cupped his cheek in her palm. “Queens, we’re ready for anything, as long as we’re together,” she replied, and kissed him again. 

“I’m calling Ned,” Harry said from behind them, sounding pleased, probably because he’d been the one out of the two of them to find out first. Cheri broke away from the kiss long enough to roll her eyes at her friend, before turning back to Peter, and smiling at him. 

“He’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably,” Peter agreed, grinning back. 


	8. April 2026's News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well I just heard the news today. It seems my life is going to change

**April 2nd, 2026 - The Comfort Diner -** **214 E 45th St, New York, NY, USA - 12:00 PM**

Peter and Cheri decided it was best to wait to tell the guardian figures in their lives that they were having a baby until they were sure. Thus, the day after Cheri had her second visit to the doctor, when they’d been given actual images of their baby, they decided it was time. Cheri called up Isabel, and learned that she and May were planning on meeting for lunch anyway, which worked out. Peter called Tony, and set up dinner at their apartment with him. 

Thus, everything was put into motion, and at twelve sharp, Cheri and Peter found themselves standing on the curb outside the diner that May and Isabel met up at twice a month for their lunches, wherein they’d catch up about anything they hadn’t already spoken on the phone with one another about. Peter appreciated that the two women were close, but he had to wonder if the closeness was a tad unusual. 

Maybe it was because he wasn’t a mother, and his child wasn’t married to someone else’s child. Maybe the relationship between two maternal in-laws was just something that he would never really understand. 

Isabel arrived before May did, hugging them both. She looked tired, Peter noticed, and Cheri did, too. She reached out to take her mother’s hand, concern on her face. 

_ “¿Mamá, como estas?”  _ she asked, gently, and Isabel smiled, reaching up with her free hand to cup Cheri’s cheek. 

“I’m fine,  _ bonita,” _ she soothed. “I just took on too many classes this semester, that’s all.”

Peter could tell that Cheri didn’t want to drop the subject, but she did, all the same, as May’s taxi pulled up to the curb. His aunt clambered out of it, appearing frazzled, and she hurriedly kissed both his cheek, and Cheri’s, before hugging Isabel. 

“Thank goodness for all of you,” May breathed. “It has been an insane week at FEAST.”

“Tell me about it,” Isabel offered, sliding her arm through the crook of May’s as the two older women headed into the diner. Peter glanced at Cheri, an eyebrow raised, and his wife lifted her shoulders in response. It seemed, like Peter, that she had no idea how in the world they were going to get a word in edgewise, when May and Isabel obviously had other things to talk about. 

All the same, Peter knew they couldn’t put it off. They’d known for sure that Cheri was pregnant for almost three weeks, now. They had a  _ picture. _ It was time to share the news with people outside of their three friends. 

He led the way into the diner, holding Cheri’s hand. They joined May and Isabel at a booth along one wall, sitting on the opposite side from the two women, who were deep in conversation about something that May had been dealing with at FEAST, which sounded to be some kind of withholding of supplies from some donor or other. Peter wondered, briefly, if he should offer his help, but decided not to. May always seemed to appreciate it, when he tried to butt in, but she never accepted any of his suggestions, probably because she liked to solve problems on her own. Peter didn’t blame her; it was something he chose to do, too, more often than not.

He and Cheri weren’t even given more than a side-look until after they’d all ordered food. Only then did May blow out a breath, and turn to them, bright-eyed. 

“So!” she said, placing her hands on the tabletop. “You said you had something to tell the two of us.”

“We do,” Peter agreed, and he glanced at Cheri. She smiled back, and reached into the bag she carried, withdrawing the envelope that held the ultrasound photos. She passed it across the table towards her mother and May on the other side. 

“You’re not the first to know,” she said, apologetically. “Harry and Megan were at the apartment when I took a test, and we had to tell Ned immediately after that, or else suffer his wrath.” She offered the two older women a small smile. “And we wanted to have pictures to show you, too.”

Peter glanced between the two of them, examining the way that May’s eyebrows had risen, only slightly, and the glint of tears in Isabel’s eyes. She reached out and picked up the envelope, slowly opening it and pulling out the small stack of photos inside. She then looked back at Peter and Cheri. 

“You’re -?”

Cheri nodded, her smile growing. “You’re going to be an  _ abuela,” _ she said. 

“Oh.” Isabel pressed a hand to her mouth, and then looked at May, who seemed close to tears herself, now. She took the pictures from Isabel, who then reached across the table towards Cheri and Peter. Cheri placed her hand in hers, and Isabel squeezed it. “Oh,  _ mija,  _ this is amazing.” She turned her gaze to Peter. “How long have the two of you known?” 

“Only a few weeks,” Cheri assured. “I took the test the day after my birthday, and we’ve gone to the doctor twice since then.” 

Peter was watching May, who seemed to be struggling to hold back tears as she sorted through the pictures, which she’d set down on the table. “May?” he asked, gently, and his aunt’s gaze lifted from the photos to his. He held out a hand to her, and she quickly took it in her own, holding tightly. 

“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered, a few tears falling down her cheeks. Her eyes shifted between him and Cheri. “Both of you. You’re going to be excellent parents.”

“Well, we were raised by excellent people,” Peter responded, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, but in the best way possible. 

“Isabel,” May said, and Isabel laughed, before the two women hugged, tightly, both crying happily as they did so. It was creating a bit of a scene, but at the moment, Peter couldn’t care less. It seemed Cheri didn’t, either, because she was beaming at her mother and his aunt, looking both relieved and elated that they were so excited. 

“Oh, we’ll need to plan a shower!” Isabel said, pulling out of the hug. She looked at Peter and Cheri again. “Do either of you have a feeling about what it is going to be?” 

Cheri laughed, and placed a hand on her belly. “Well, Megan and Ned think it’s going to be a boy,” she said, “but Harry put five dollars on a girl.”

“We’re betting,” May exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Goodness, the pull will go towards diapers, after the baby is born, obviously.” She looked down at the pictures again, and her expression softened as she touched one gently with her fingertips. “Such a sweet little thing.”

“When are you due?” Isabel asked, picking up a different picture. 

“The first week of November,” Cheri replied. She took Peter’s hand under the table, and he squeezed hers, gently. 

“We’ve been thinking of names already, too,” he put in. “Even though it’s… the doctor thinks she’s maybe two months along, at most, as of yesterday.” He glanced at Cheri, who nodded encouragingly. Peter cleared his throat. “Uhm, anyway, if it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Maria May.”

“Oh, Abuela will be so happy to hear that,” Isabel said, while May merely smiled softly at him, and mouthed  _ Thank you. _ Peter nodded back, chest warm with happiness. 

“And if it’s a boy, Benjamin Anthony,” Cheri added. 

May’s eyes flooded with fresh tears, and she placed her hands over her face, resting her elbows on the table. Peter reached across and touched her arm, in an effort to comfort her, while Isabel clicked her tongue. 

“Tony’s pride will only grow bigger, if that’s even possible,” she said. “When are you going to tell him?” 

“Tonight,” Peter said, as May took his hand again, holding it tightly. “We’re having dinner with him.” 

“We’re hoping he takes it okay,” Cheri said, gnawing at her bottom lip. “We’ve only been married for a year, after all.”

“What’s meant to be will be,” May said, sniffling. She reached out with her other hand to take Cheri’s. “This baby is going to be the most amazing human to have ever been born, I can feel it.” 

“Well, until they have another one,” Isabel said, and May chuckled, while both Peter and Cheri blanched. 

“Can we just focus on this first one for now?” Cheri asked, and the two older women laughed again, more brightly this time, before immediately beginning to chat about what the shower would possibly look like. Cheri sighed, and Peter smiled at her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, before settling his hand over her belly. Cheri covered it with her own. 

Two down, one to go. 

**420 E. 51st St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 7:21 PM**

“I wish I could have your cooking every night,” Tony declared, tossing his napkin on top of his plate and leaning back in his chair with a groan. “Yeesh, Pete, you’re spoiled, for sure.”

“It’s not being spoiled,” Peter said with a grin. “I married her.”

Cheri swatted at him with her own napkin, and she rose from her chair to clear the table. As she picked up his plate, she offered Peter A Look, and then tilted her head in Tony’s direction. Peter nodded, once, and waited until she was out of sight, disappearing into the kitchen, before he turned towards his mentor, who’d folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. 

“Tony?” he began, and Tony hummed questioningly. “It’s after dinner.”

Tony had suggested that they wait to talk about whatever it was Cheri and Peter had to share with him until after he’d eaten. No doubt he thought it was something bad; the man’s pessimism knew no bounds. 

The way he exhaled, and then cleared his throat before lowering his arms and opening his eyes demonstrated that he  _ still _ believed it was going to be bad news. Peter waited patiently as Tony shifted in his chair, scooting in closer to the table, before scooting back again, and folding his hands in his lap. 

“Right,” he said. “Lay it on me, then. What’s up?” 

Cheri stepped back out of the kitchen. How like her to let Peter reintroduce the subject, only to return when it was time to actually say what needed to be said. She walked up behind Peter’s chair, resting her hands on his shoulders. He exhaled, and reached up to circle one of his hands around her wrist, before looking at Tony. 

“Cher?” Peter prompted, suddenly finding himself incapable of actually saying the words. He physically had to turn away from Tony again, and heard Cheri click her tongue. 

“I’m pregnant,” she said. 

There was a moment of silence, during which Peter looked everywhere but at his mentor, not wanting to see his expression. He was surprised, then, and slightly horrified, when Tony let out a loud guffaw. Peter looked towards him, startled, and watched as Tony smacked a hand against his leg, his eyes bright with mirth, a wide smile looking as though it were doing its best to tear his face in half. 

“You’re going to have a baby?” he clarified, and Peter nodded, feeling Cheri do the same. Tony laughed again, and bounced up out of his chair, moving towards the two of them. He engulfed them both into a hug, despite the fact that Peter was still seated. “This is great!” 

“We thought you’d be a little less excited,” Cheri admitted. 

“Why’s that? The two of you were going to have kids anyway. Why not start early?” Tony squeezed them for a moment longer before backing away again, sliding his hands into his pockets as he smiled at the two of them. “Wow. A little mix of the two of you, wandering around, learning, becoming a person. I can’t wait.” 

Peter relaxed, feeling relief flood through him like a dam had just broken open. He’d been very worried about Tony reacting poorly to the news for a number of reasons, amongst them the fact that Tony had had to leave behind the timeline in which he’d had a family of his own in order to save half the population. Peter hadn’t known if he would suffer from, like, PTSD or depression as soon as he learned that there was going to be a baby around. 

He seemed elated, however, just as Isabel and May had been, which Peter couldn’t be happier about. 

“So, any ideas about what it’s going to be?” Tony queried, as Cheri passed him some of the sonogram pictures. 

“I’m thinking boy,” Cheri answered. “And Ned and Megan feel the same, but Harry wants it to be a girl.” 

“Are we betting money?” Tony asked immediately. 

“Yes,” Cheri said, rolling her eyes, while Peter grinned. “Five bucks is the base bet. Apparently, it’s going to go towards a diaper fund.” 

“As it should,” Tony said, pulling out his wallet. “I’ll go in with Harry, then. A little girl would be wonderful. Not that a boy won’t be equally wonderful, but.” 

“Do not hand me anything higher than a fifty dollar bill. I will beat you,” Cheri threatened. 

“Oh, that can’t be safe for the baby,” Tony joked, withdrawing a one-hundred dollar bill from his wallet. 

Peter snorted at the distasteful expression on Cheri’s face, and looked at his mentor. “You might want to bet on a boy,” he said, and Tony glanced at him. 

“Why’s that?” 

“If it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Benjamin Anthony.” 

Tony went stock still, which had been Peter’s intention. He nudged Cheri with his elbow, and she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Tony gaped wordlessly between the two of them, looking flabbergasted. 

“Really?” he finally squeaked. 

“Of course,” Cheri answered. She reached out and placed her hand on his wrist, squeezing it gently. “You’re super important to both of us, Tony. Why wouldn’t we want our son to have your name as part of his?” 

To Peter’s shock, and underlying horror, Tony’s eyes flooded with tears. He watched in dismay as his mentor turned away from the two of them, sniffling, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said, gruffly. He cleared his throat, and quickly wiped his hand across his eyes. “I mean, that’s great. Sure. I’m down.”

Peter heard Cheri sigh, and then she stepped towards where Tony was sitting, moving around behind him. She put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be brought to tears every time someone shows that they love you,” she said, softly. 

“Shit,” Tony groaned, and he buried his face in his hands. “I was going to be  _ fine, _ until you said that!” 

“Sorry,” Cheri apologized, and she hugged him a bit tighter, looking over at Peter for help. He quickly got up from his own chair, and joined the two of them. He set a hand down on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Tony,” he started, “you’re - what you did for me, when I first started out as Spider-Man, and… and even just for me, as Peter, it - you helped me become the man I am. It wouldn’t be right, if my son wasn’t named after you.” 

He listened as Tony inhaled, shakily, before continuing: “And… I’m sorry that we made you cry, but we mean it, when we say how important you are to the both of us. We love you, and we can’t wait for you to be like a grandfather to our child.”

Tony breathed outwards, and then he lowered his hands from his face. He looked up and around at Peter and Cheri, and Peter was relieved when he smiled, despite the fact that there were still tears in his eyes. 

“I never thought I’d get to be a grandpa,” he said. 

“Well, get ready,” Cheri said, smiling, “because your first surrogate grandchild will be arriving the first week of November, 2026.” 

“Oh, God,  _ November?” _ Tony exclaimed. “That’s so close, but also so far away!” 

“Believe us, we know,” Peter agreed, stepping away again. Cheri followed his lead, and Tony spun around in his chair to face them. 

“There’s so much to do. Babies are a big deal. Is the guest room big enough to act as a nursery? We can get you a bigger apartment. Or how about a whole house?” 

As Tony continued on, Peter slid an arm around Cheri’s waist, gently pulling her into his side. His wife leaned into him, sighing quietly. 

Really, though, they should’ve expected this reaction from him. Tony did like to be exuberant, no matter the circumstance, and a baby was a pretty big circumstance.

At that moment, it really sank in for him: he was going to be a father. Peter inhaled, sharply, and fell into the closest chair to where he'd been standing, feeling very dizzy. 

"Pete?" he heard Cheri ask, sounding worried, and then she was standing next to him, forcing the cup of water he'd been drinking at dinner into his hand. He felt her run her fingers through his hair as he took a sip of water. "Talk to me, Queens. You okay?" 

And, surprisingly, Peter realized that he _was._ Sure, the fact that he was going to be a dad was _huge,_ and a little horrifying, but... he was ready. He knew he was ready, intrinsically, just as he'd known that he wanted to become Spider-Man almost the minute he'd found out what the radioactive spider had done to him, and how he'd known that he wanted to be with Cheri almost from the moment he saw her. It was... he was going to be a father, and he was _okay._

So, he smiled, and looked up at his wife. "I'm fantastic," he assured. 

He saw Cheri's relief in her expression as she managed a smile back. "Okay," she said. "Good." She leaned down to kiss him, briefly, and then turned to Tony, who seemed to have settled into a zone of deep contentment, if the smile on his own face was any indication, "Dessert?" 

"Ooh, yes!" he said at once, sitting up straight in the chair he'd sat in. "Is it that delicious chocolate cake you made for my birthday last year?" 

"Duh," Cheri replied, and Peter watched the two of them head into the kitchen, his smile staying where it was all the while. He leaned back in his own chair, and sighed, feeling pretty content himself, but it was underlain with the very distinct feeling of excitement and anticipation he'd had since Cheri had shown him the pregnancy test. 

They were going to be _parents!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to you and yours from me and mine!


	9. A Moment on July 2nd, 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We'll be scraping the skies with out fingertips, screaming "This is the life, we were born for this".  
> See I've got plans to get to you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if these lyrics match super well with the plot of this chapter, but like... there's some talk of future plans, and like, dreams? 
> 
> It's hard to find lyrics, sometimes!

**July 2nd, 2026 - 420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 5:21 PM**

“So, have you decided?”

Peter glanced up from the work report he’d been reading, and frowned at Cheri, who was folding laundry. He’d offered to do it instead, considering, but she’d waved him off, saying that she wasn’t incapable yet. 

“About what?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “Y’know.” She glanced at him, placing the shirt she’d just folded onto the correct pile. “They said you can start your doctorate in the fall.”

“Ah.” Peter exhaled, and leaned back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, Cher. It’s - I mean, maybe it’ll be easier if I don’t.”

Cheri frowned to herself, and looked at the laundry again. “What do you mean, easier?” she asked. 

“Just… with debt and everything,” he explained. 

Cheri immediately let out a scoff.  _ “Debt?” _ she asked incredulously. “Pete, you should not be worrying about debt.”

“I think I should,” he responded. “I mean, the extra two years of college weren’t part of the scholarship I got. You know how much two years at ESU is.”

“I do,” she agreed, “but Peter, if you’re going to get your doctorate, it’d be smartest to do it now, when we don’t have rent or a mortgage or a car payment.” She tossed a folded pair of basketball shorts onto the pile in the laundry basket, and looked at him. “If it’s the baby you’re thinking about -”

“Of course I’m thinking about the baby,” Peter sighed. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, until he saw stars. “Babies are  _ huge _ expenses. Diapers, and formula. Clothes. Wipes. It’s - are we going to be able to afford a doctorate program on top of that?” 

Cheri shifted her position a little, setting the laundry basket out of the way so that she could lounge a bit better on the couch. She rested one hand on top of her belly, which had only very recently started to show there was a baby inside of it, her expression thoughtful. 

After a moment, she said, “You were always planning on getting a doctorate. Even with a baby, we still aren’t going to have to worry about the other expenses I mentioned before.” She glanced at him. “Start it. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish with it, and… and you know that if we need help, there are plenty of people we can go to.”

Peter huffed. “I hate asking for help,” he muttered. “I’ve gotten so much already.”

“I know,” Cheri replied, reaching over to touch his arm. “But it isn’t like we won’t plan on paying whoever we get help from back, right? And this is only if we end up needing it.”

He glanced at her. “We won’t have my S.I. income to depend on -”

“So keep working all this summer,” Cheri said, “and we’ll save it, use what I have for everything else until you start school again. That way, we’ll have a pretty stable collection to rely on when the baby comes.” She smiled a bit. “We’ll be okay, Pete. We’ll figure it out.”

That seemed to be their mantra. Peter managed to smile back. 

“Okay,” he said, and Cheri tilted her head to the side. He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. They - they did say they’d waive some of the extraneous charges if I stayed to do my doctorate, so… y’know, now’s probably the best time.” 

Cheri smiled at him. “Good,” she said, and she stretched out, plunking her feet down in his lap. His smile growing, Peter started to rub them, knowing they were probably aching. “Do you know if Ned’s going to get his, too?” she asked, after a moment.

Peter exhaled. “I don’t think so,” he said. “He’s done, I think. Done depending on school to keep from becoming a real adult with a real job that he didn’t get from Tony Stark.” 

Cheri laughed, and Peter felt his shoulders relax. 

“So,” he said, after a few minutes, during which he’d switched between her feet, to rub the other one. “Maria May?” 

“He’s Benjamin Anthony, Peter,” Cheri said at once, her eyes closed. “We’re done talking about it.”

“You have no way of knowing,” Peter insisted. 

“I’m carrying him around inside me,” Cheri retorted. “I think I know.”

Peter hummed, quietly. “Hey,” he said, and Cheri opened one eye to look at him. “I love you.”

She smiled again, softly, the one that showed her dimples. Peter sincerely hoped that, whoever the baby might be, inherited them from her. “I love you, too,” she responded. 

Peter smiled, and leaned his head back against the couch cushion, feeling like he could use a nap, too. He was just beginning to drift off when Cheri gasped. His eyes flew open, and he quickly looked over at his wife, startled. 

“What is it?” he asked, worriedly, seeing that she was looking down at her belly, resting her hands on it. She glanced up at him, her eyes bright. 

“He’s moving around,” she whispered. 

Peter’s heart elevated into his throat. “What?” he managed, and Cheri nodded, and then reached for his hand. Peter held it out to her, and she placed it on a part of her belly parallel to her belly button. 

“Do you feel it?” she asked, after a moment, and Peter struggled to answer her, too stunned to actually form words, for he could, in fact, feel their baby shifting beneath his fingers, through Cheri’s skin. It was strong movement, too, reassuring. He wondered if the baby was changing position. 

“Cheri,” he murmured, unable to say anything else. 

“I’m glad you can,” she replied. “When I read about it, it said other people might not be able to feel it, when the baby starts moving around.” She beamed at him, when he lifted his eyes to look at her face, rather than down at her belly. She then winced a little. “This is probably the worst question I’ll ever ask you, but… can you hear his heartbeat?” 

Peter considered the prompt for a second, wondering if it was something he  _ wanted _ to try and do. He supposed it might be… kind of nice, to be able to hear their baby’s heart beating, without Cheri being under an ultrasound wand. He closed his eyes, so that he could concentrate on his hearing, and strained his ears slightly, beyond what he’d trained himself to limit his sense to on a regular basis. 

After a moment, very faintly, the sound of the baby’s heartbeat reached his ears. It was thudding along steadily, if a bit quickly, and he smiled to himself. 

“Yeah?” Cheri asked, her voice lowered, as though she were aware that speaking too loudly when his hearing was going full-blast would alarm him. No doubt she  _ did _ know it. 

Peter nodded, and regulated his hearing again, before he opened his eyes to look at her. “It’s strong,” he said, and Cheri visibly relaxed. She ran her hand over her belly, the corner of her mouth quirking up slightly. 

“I can’t wait for you to join us out here,  _ mijo,”  _ she murmured. “You keep growing in there, though, so you’re nice and healthy when it’s time to come out.” 

Peter squeezed her foot, gently. “Still could be a girl,” he reminded her. 

“He isn’t,” Cheri retorted, just as lightly. 

Deep down, Peter supposed, he thought she was probably right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute. 
> 
> In other news, I start student teaching either tomorrow, or today, depending on what timezone you're in when I upload this, so I don't think I'm going to be having much time to write. 
> 
> As such, I have a bit more written out after this, so I'll post all of that when I can, and I will try to write when I can, but things may get a little bit more sporadic and spaced-out for the next several months. 
> 
> But don't worry, I'll always come back to the "It Gets Worse!" Universe, when I get a second to do so.


	10. November 8th, 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm. This bond between us can't be broken.

**November 8th, 2026 - 420 51st St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 5:42 AM**

Cheri leaned heavily in the doorway of the en suite bathroom of their bedroom, looking towards where Peter still lay in bed, used to her getting up at all hours by now. He probably didn’t think that anything was wrong. 

Just wait until she told him. 

“Peter,” she started, and he immediately sat upright, blinking at her through the darkness of the room. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, worriedly, clambering from the bed. “Is it happening?” 

“I think so,” Cheri said. “I’ve been counting for the past two hours.” 

“Okay, Cher, two _hours?”_ Peter exclaimed, hurrying around the room to gather together some final pieces of their go-bag. “Why didn’t you wake me up before?” 

“I didn’t know for sure,” Cheri said, patiently. “I was checking to make sure it wasn’t false labor, first, and then I thought that maybe I just needed to get up and walk around, that I was panicking for no reason.” She watched as he shoved a neck pillow into the already over-stuffed duffel bag. “Pete?” 

“What?” he asked over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to be really paying attention, no doubt focused on his task. 

“Queens.” Cheri walked towards him, holding a hand beneath her belly, and she pressed the other to the space between his shoulder blades. Peter relaxed under her touch, almost immediately, and she leaned into him for a moment. “It’s going to be okay,” she assured. 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, and then he turned around to face her. He placed an arm around her shoulders, and leaned over, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s go.”

Cheri nodded in agreement, then allowed him to help her out of the bedroom, and down the hall to the front room of the apartment. Griffin, who’d been lying on the top of his cat tower, lifted his head as Peter flicked on the light, _mrow-_ ing questioningly. 

“The baby’s coming,” Cheri explained to him. Peter dropped the duffel bag and went about filling Griffin’s food and water dishes. Cheri walked over to the cat tree, and scratched the tabby under his chin. Griffin purred, rumbling like a motorboat, and she smiled, the vibration and the sound soothing her small bit of anxiety. “We’ll be back later.” 

Peter picked up the duffel bag again, and returned to her side, sliding an arm around her waist. “Come on,” he said, leading her towards the door after clicking off the light again. He grabbed the keys to the car from the hook on the wall as Cheri shrugged into a coat. He almost didn’t do the same, but she cleared her throat, and he remembered at the last second, slipping his own coat on over his shoulders, before opening the door for her. 

They made it down to the car, and Peter helped her into the passenger’s seat. Cheri wished that she wouldn’t have to let him drive, but she knew that she probably couldn’t drive, not with the pains she was experiencing every twenty minutes or so. Hopefully she wasn’t dilated too much; she really didn’t want to end up having Benjamin Anthony in the car. 

Peter sat down behind the wheel, exhaling as he started up the engine, and checked into the backseat to make sure the duffel was there, even though he’d _just_ put it back there. Cheri reached over and covered his hand with her own. 

“You’re supposed to be telling _me_ to breathe,” she said, lightly. “Not the other way around.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking at her. “Are you breathing properly?” 

Cheri smiled at him, and leaned back in her seat. “Just drive like a normal person, and I should be okay,” she teased. 

Peter huffed, quietly, and pulled out of the parking spot in the garage beneath their apartment building. “I’m glad labor hasn’t affected your sarcasm,” he mumbled. 

**Northwell Health - 641 Lexington Ave, Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 7:02 AM**

Cheri breathed outwards, slowly, as her contraction ended, and she looked up at Peter. “Considering how long I was in labor prior to coming to the hospital,” she said, trying to keep her tone bright, “I would’ve thought it would be over, by now.”

“It’s only been an hour, really,” Peter said. “Since we’ve been here.” 

Cheri made a face. “Still.” She grabbed for her cup, which had held ice chips, and found it empty. She pouted, and looked hopefully up at Peter. He smiled, and took the cup from her, pressing a kiss to her brow. 

“Be right back,” he assured, and then he exited the private room they’d been granted, luckily arriving at a slow time for the hospital's maternity ward. As he passed through the doorway, Harry and Ned scooted around him, both looking sleepy. 

“You guys really didn’t need to come,” Cheri told them, again. Harry merely blew a raspberry as they walked over to her bed, and he sat down on the edge of it, beside her. 

“If everyone in _Friends_ could stay at the hospital while Rachel was in labor, Ned and I can be here for you,” he said, looking at Ned. “Right?” 

“Exactly,” Ned replied, sitting down in the chair Peter had pulled up next to the bed. “Mr. Stark said he’ll be up soon, too; he was waiting downstairs for your mom.” 

“Where’d May go?” Cheri asked. 

“Gift shop,” Harry replied. “She wanted to look at the baby stuff.” 

Cheri exhaled, slowly, and lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “They mention that labor is mostly a waiting game,” she said, after a moment, “but I didn’t think the game would last this long.” 

“It’ll be over soon, right?” Ned questioned. “I thought your doctor said you were almost there?” 

“I was _almost there_ a half-hour ago,” Cheri said, “and oddly, I feel no different, which indicates nothing has changed.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be complaining so much. I’ve only been in labor for maybe four hours. Some women are in labor for thirty-six.” She swallowed. “God, I hope that isn’t me.” 

“Hey!” Ned said, brightly. “Consider this: if the baby is born within the next… what, sixteen hours, he’ll have the same birthday as Justin and Travis McElroy!” 

“And that chef guy,” Harry added. “Uh... the angry one.” 

“Gordon Ramsay,” Cheri said, eyes closed. Another contraction was starting up. 

“Yeah, him,” Harry agreed.

“It’s also the day Norman Rockwell died,” Ned put in. “And Alex Trebek.”

“Did you really look that up on your phone?” Harry asked. 

“I typed ‘November 8’, and one of the results was ‘famous deaths’,” Ned explained.

“Good morning!” Cheri opened her eyes at Tony’s voice, and smiled when she saw both him and her mother entering the room. Isabel hurried over to the bed, and took Cheri’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently. 

_“¿Cómo estás?”_ she asked, quietly, and Cheri hummed. 

“Could be worse.”

Isabel let out a laugh. “You’ll be all right,” she said. “And this will be the most difficult one.” 

“Máma,” Cheri said, scandalized, looking at Tony, who pretended to not have been listening, eyes trained on the ceiling. She clicked her tongue at her mother. “Personal information. And how would you know, anyway? You and Abuela both only had one!” 

“It’s common sense,” Isabel responded. "Auntie Catrina had four, remember, so she knows, and believe me, she talks about it, too."

Cheri shook her head, and sighed gratefully when Peter returned, holding a fresh cup of ice chips. “Thank you,” she said, taking it from him. He offered Ned a pointed look, and their friend hopped up from the chair so that Peter could sit down again, taking her other hand. 

“How are you feeling, really?” Tony asked Cheri, who crunched down on a couple of ice chips before replying. 

“I honestly _could_ be worse,” she said. “The contractions are about five minutes apart, now, and my doctor said I was dilated seven, the last time she was in here, which was a half-hour ago.” She shifted a little. “It doesn’t feel like much has changed, although the contractions are a lot closer together.” 

“Well, I had hopes that you’d be given a repeat of the labor I had,” Isabel said, “but I suppose not everyone gets lucky.” 

“You were only in labor with me for an hour, right?” Cheri asked, and Isabel nodded. 

“Unsurprising, considering I was induced,” she said. “Things move quickly, once that happens.” 

May walked into the room, then, and Cheri suddenly felt as though there were too many people around. She looked at Peter, hoping he could read her expression. She needn’t have doubted, even a little. 

“Hey, guys?” Peter began. “We appreciate all of you being here, but I think the room’s just a little small to have everyone inside it all at once.” 

“No problem,” Harry said, obviously also seeing Cheri’s expression and knowing what was going on inside her head. “Ned and I’ll check out the cafeteria.”

“Yeah, shitty hospital breakfast food!” Ned said, cheerfully, and followed him out of the room. Tony moved in on Peter’s side of the bed, scooting in front of him so that he could lean in towards Cheri. 

“You’re all right?” he asked, and Cheri offered him a smile, before nodding. Tony nodded back, and patted her leg over the blanket she had pulled up to her waist, before backing away from the bed again, and leaving the room. 

That left Peter and the two other women, which Cheri was all right with. She smiled at all three of them, seeing the varying expressions on their faces. 

“I’m okay,” she assured, and then winced as another contraction began. “But I do - I would like for this to be over.” 

Peter took her hand in his, holding it gently, even as Cheri squeezed his hard enough that she probably would’ve broken anyone else’s. “Breathe,” he said, soothingly, and then followed along with the pattern she’d been using, the one they’d learned about together. 

The contraction passed, and Cheri leaned back into her pillow, eyes closed, panting. She felt someone brush some hair out of her face. 

“Let me braid this,” her mother suggested. “It’ll stay out of the way better, and be less uncomfortable.” 

A few minutes later, Isabel was seated behind her on the bed, pulling her mess of curls back into a secure braid, while May considered some of the charts that were hanging on the walls, and Peter tapped away on his phone. The door to the room opened, after someone knocked politely on it, and then Dr. Lyman poked her head into the room. She then opened the door fully and entered. 

“I see you have quite a following,” she said, walking over to the bed, pulling on a fresh glove as she did so. Isabel moved off the bed, and helped Cheri lean back against the pillows again. 

“Yeah,” she said, in response to Dr. Lyman’s comment. “We uh - we have an interesting family dynamic.” 

“It’s nice,” Dr. Lyman said, lifting the end of the blanket, and reaching beneath it with her gloved hand. Peter returned to Cheri’s side, and took her hand again, while Cheri blew outwards, watching her OBGYN closely. She was relieved when Dr. Lyman smiled, slightly, and withdrew her hand again. 

“Looks like it’s go time,” she said. “Are you ready?” 

“Readier than I thought I’d be,” Cheri answered, looking at Peter, who leaned in to kiss her forehead. 

“I’ll go wait outside with the others,” May said. She moved in long enough to kiss Peter’s cheek, and then to squeeze Cheri’s hand reassuringly, before she walked away, and out of the room, just as a set of nurses arrived. Isabel moved to the end of the bed, accepting the medical gown that one of the nurses offered. Another brought one to Peter, who pulled it on, as well as the cap that was paired with it. Cheri watched this process. 

“I’m glad you didn’t want to be a doctor,” she said, and Peter tilted his head, curious. Cheri snickered. “Your ears, babe.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you a pass, this time,” he said, “because you’re about to have our baby.” He leaned in close, so that he could speak in her ear. “But he’s probably going to have them, too.” 

Cheri stuck out her tongue, and then turned to Dr. Lyman, who’d settled at the end of the bed, wearing a gown of her own, as well as two new gloves. She met Cheri’s gaze. 

“Okay,” she began, calmly. “It’s a simple enough process. Whenever another contraction starts up, I’m going to ask you to keep pushing through it, all the way to the end. The harder and longer you push, the faster we’ll bring this baby into the world.” 

Cheri nodded in understanding. She’d read as much in her birthing book, that Megan had gifted her, saying that “There’re some gnarly images in here, and I’m a forensic anthropologist,” which had frightened Cheri enough to get her to flip through it almost immediately. Now, she was about to live through the experience. She just hoped that it went better than the dreams she’d been having about it had indicated it would. 

“Pete,” she said, anxiety surging through her chest, and he squeezed her hand. 

“You’ll be okay,” he assured. “And you can do this, I know you can.” 

“All right, Cheri, first contraction is starting,” Dr. Lyman said, as two nurses stepped in to hold and keep her legs in place. “Push.” 

Cheri shut her eyes, tightly, and did as she’d been told, gritting her teeth through it. The _pain…_ was _horrifying._ It felt like she was being ripped in two, and it startled her _very_ badly. She almost stopped pushing, because of how frightened she was by the feeling, but remember Dr. Lyman’s instructions, and kept going. 

“Yep, this baby boy is ready to come out,” she heard Dr. Lyman say. “I already see his head.” 

“He’s not going to suffocate, is he?” Peter asked, sounding worried himself, now. 

“No, he’ll be all right,” Dr. Lyman assured. “You’ll go again in about thirty seconds, Cheri, be ready.” 

“Keep pushing like that, _mija,”_ her mother urged. She’d moved up to stand beside her head again, and Cheri reached blindly for her hand. Isabel let her take it, and then said, lightly, “Just remember not to squeeze mine quite as hard as you’re squeezing Peter’s.” 

“You’re doing amazing, Cher,” Peter whispered to her. 

“Here comes the next one,” Dr. Lyman said, her voice as steady as it always was. “Push, Cheri, just like you did before.” 

Cheri did, so, gritting her teeth again, and she heard herself groaning through it as well as the pain increased tenfold. 

“His head is out,” Dr. Lyman said. “Good, Cheri, one or two more should do it. It is easy sailing from here, my dear.” 

_God, I hope so,_ Cheri thought, wearily. She hadn’t noticed she’d leaned forward, while pushing, until she slumped back against her pillow again. Shit, her vagina hurt. Women really did this more than once, because they _wanted_ to? 

“Here we go,” Dr. Lyman said, breaking through her thoughts. “Last one, Cheri, let’s make it strong.” 

Cheri leaned forward again, feeling an arm prop her up from behind, and hearing both Peter and her mother’s encouragement through the pounding of blood in her ears as she gave the final push all the strength she had left. There was a pain between her legs of the likes she’d _never_ felt before, and then…

“There he is,” Dr. Lyman said, and Cheri could hear her smile in her voice. “A healthy baby boy.” 

Cheri opened her eyes, blinking against the lights of the room, and looked around blearily. She could see two nurses standing over the bassinet that had been against one wall. Dr. Lyman lingered at the foot of the bed, dealing with what the birthing book had referred to as the _after-birth._ Her mother pushed back a few curls that had come loose from the braid, whispering encouragements to her in Spanish. Cheri smiled up at her, and then looked around for Peter, wondering where he had gone. 

“Cher, he’s -” She turned in the direction of her husband’s voice, which sounded choked-up, frighteningly enough, and then found herself with an armful of blankets and warm, soft, newborn baby, with Peter back at her side. 

“Holy shit,” she whispered, looking down at their son. He bore an alarmingly strong resemblance to Peter, but she could see he’d inherited her hair, if the curls poking out from beneath the blue hat on his head were any indication. His skin was a light shade of brown, lighter than her own. His nose was scrunched, a crease between his brows, and he was perfect. 

Cheri felt tears gather in her eyes, and she swallowed, looking up at Peter, who’d already been crying, she realized, seeing the wet marks on his cheeks. He perched on the edge of the bed, and smiled at her.

“He’s amazing,” he said, softly. “I love you, so much.” 

“I love you, too,” Cheri replied, and tilted her head up in order to receive a kiss, which Peter gave with no hesitation. They parted again, and both looked down at their son once more. So much emotion was swirling around in Cheri’s chest, she was amazed that she was able to breathe, still. “I - I already love him so much I know I would… I would do anything for him,” she murmured. “I would kill for this child, Queens.”

Peter let out a laugh, and leaned his head against hers as Cheri adjusted her grip on their son, smiling down at him. 

“Hello, Benjamin Anthony,” she said, lightly. “I know you won’t remember this, because you’re literally minutes old, but… I want you to know that you are… the best thing to ever happen to your daddy and I. No matter what you do, what you grow up to be, we will never stop loving you, and neither will… so many other people that haven’t even met you, yet.” 

Peter scooted around a bit until he was able to bend over and press a gentle kiss to the baby’s hatted-head. “She’s right,” he whispered. “You’re always going to be surrounded by people who love you. You might get sick of it, actually, but I hope you don’t.” 

Cheri smiled at him. “Speaking from experience?” she asked, and Peter hummed in response. She lifted her gaze, and found her mother standing nearby, obviously giving them their first few minutes with their baby, but excited to be introduced when the time came. 

“Come say _hola,”_ Cheri invited, and Isabel quickly stepped forward, moving up on the other side of the bed. Cheri shifted so that she could see Benjamin Anthony a bit better, and Isabel inhaled, sharply. 

“He’s gorgeous,” she said. “Oh, Cheri, Peter… congratulations.” She reached out, and gently touched her grandson’s chin with her forefinger. _“Hola, mijo. Bienvenido al mundo.”_

“Sorry to interrupt,” one of the nurses began, “but he should rest in his bassinet for a little while.” 

“Right,” Cheri agreed. “Being born is an ordeal.” She looked at Peter, who blinked, but then easily enough lifted the baby from her arms, and passed him over to the nurse. She smiled down at their son, carrying him back over to the bassinet, while Cheri exhaled, leaning back against her pillow more comfortably. “Giving _birth_ is an ordeal,” she said. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever admire you more than I already did. I should’ve known better,” Peter replied, and Cheri grinned, accepting the kiss that he gave her to punctuate the statement. 

“How much did he weigh?” she asked the nurse. 

“A very healthy 8 pounds, 3 ounces,” the nurse replied, checking a chart.

Cheri winced. “Yeah, I’m gonna be feeling all eight of those pounds for awhile,” she mumbled, shifting her legs beneath her blanket. 

“Just double-checking: the name for the birth certificate is Benjamin Anthony Parker?” the nurse clarified, and Cheri looked up at Peter. 

“Now’s your chance to change it,” she said. “I won’t realize you did until it’s too late.” 

Peter smiled in response. “Why would I want to do that?” he queried, and nodded to the nurse. “Benjamin Anthony, yeah.” 

Cheri closed her eyes, smiling contentedly to herself. She felt Peter kiss her forehead again. 

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, and Cheri decided that that was probably something she could manage to do. 

**12:01 PM**

Peter leaned his forehead against the window showing into the newborn ward, smiling at his son, who appeared to be the only male baby in the room. There were only four other bassinets beside his own, but Benjamin’s was the only one lined with a blue blanket. 

Peter spoke, knowing that his son wouldn’t be able to hear him through the window, and wouldn’t be able to understand him, but feeling it was important to bring the topic up, anyway: “Kiddo, you’re allowed to like pink, by the way. Just ‘cause you’re a boy doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be allowed to like pink, or that you’re forced into being identified by blue, or _masculine_ colors. And, like, you’re allowed to be whatever you want to be, too, by the way. Just - for right now, until you… y’know, can identify who you are as a person, on your own, I’m gonna stick with thinking that you're a boy. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The kid’s only a few hours old.” Peter turned towards Tony’s voice, and found that his mentor was approaching, looking amused. “I’m almost positive he doesn’t mind.” 

Tony stopped next to where Peter was standing, and looked in through the window himself, smiling a bit. “He looks a lot like you,” he commented. 

“I know,” Peter sighed. “You can tell already that he has my ears. When I teased Cheri about it earlier, I didn’t think I’d manifest it.” 

Tony chuckled. “Maybe he’ll grow into them,” he suggested. 

“We can only hope,” Peter replied, and he looked at his son again, before smiling to himself as well. “He’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, quietly. “I remember this feeling that you’re having, right now. It never goes away.” 

Peter glanced at him, his smile fading. “This is hard for you, isn’t it?” he asked, softly. “Just - the whole situation.” 

“No, it’s -” Tony exhaled through his nose. “Well, yeah, it’s a little rough, but I - this is your life, Pete. And I’m… you and Cheri’ve given me a gift I didn’t ever… y’know, imagine I’d get to experience. I’m going to be a grandpa, and I can’t wait.” 

Peter desperately wanted to believe his mentor, but something deep down inside of him knew that it would never be possible for Tony to be completely, one-hundred percent happy, not when he’d had to sacrifice the life he’d always wanted in order to give almost everyone else in the world the lives that they wanted. However unselfish Tony constantly proved to be, there would always be a part of him that would never fully heal, after that experience. 

Instead of pressing the topic, however, knowing that Tony would never outwardly admit to him that he knew the same thing Peter did, Peter gestured towards the window. “Have you gotten to hold him?’ 

“No,” Tony said, “but I can wait. He needs rest.” He looked at Peter. “How’s Cheri?” 

Peter grinned, despite himself. “She’s great,” he said. “Won’t stop muttering about how uncomfortable the hospital bed is, and how she just wants to go home.” 

Tony chuckled. “She sounds like she’s doing well, then,” he said, and he glanced at his watch. “Ah, I gotta get over to the Tower. I have a meeting at one.” He looked at Peter, and then smiled, reaching out to clap a hand down on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Pete. You two are going to be fantastic parents.” He tilted his head towards the window. “I’ll come meet my Resident Grandson Figure this weekend, maybe bring Stephen if he wants to come?”

“Sure,” Peter agreed. “I’ll let Cheri know.” 

Tony nodded, squeezed his shoulder, and then dropped his hand and stepped around him. “See you later, kid,” he said, over his shoulder. 

“Tony?” His mentor paused, and turned back towards him, an eyebrow raised. Peter offered him a grin. “How do you feel about being called Poppy?” 

The corner of Tony’s mouth quirked up; Peter could tell he was pleased. “We’ll workshop it,” he said casually, and then kept walking off down the hall. 

Peter, still grinning, turned back to the window, and looked in through it towards his son. Benjamin Anthony yawned, widely, the inside of his mouth pink and healthy. Peter’s grin grew, and he rested his forehead against the glass of the window again. God, he loved the baby so much already, he couldn’t believe it. 

“Hey.” He lifted his head once more, at Harry’s voice, and found his friend approaching, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He stopped next to Peter at the window, and smiled a bit as he looked at Benjamin, before his shoulders raised and lowered and he turned back to Peter. “How’re you doing?” 

“Good,” Peter said. “I didn’t know you were still here. When Ned said he was leaving, I figured you’d go with him.” 

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t really have anywhere to be,” he said, and looked at Benjamin again. “Besides, I wanted to see Cheri one last time, before I left.” Peter tilted his head, and Harry grinned a bit. “And Ned and I may have a bet as to who’ll get to hold the kid first.” 

Peter laughed. “Of course you do,” he said, amused, and then he considered his friend. He felt only pleased amusement, and contentment, and he decided that he wanted Harry to win. “All right, let’s see if we can find a nurse.”

“Whoa, really?” Harry asked, the color fading from his face. “Like, right now?” 

“Yeah,” Peter said, on his way to a call button that was built into the wall outside the door leading into the newborn ward. “Don’t you want to win the bet?” 

He heard Harry swallow, saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Sure,” he said, “just - I’ve never held a baby.” 

Peter grinned. “It’s easy,” he said. He hit the call button, and within seconds, a nurse had appeared. Peter told her what was happening; she seemed a little bemused by the whole thing, but all the same, she led the way into the ward, and instructed them both in washing their hands, before leading them to Benjamin Anthony’s bassinet. She scooped up the baby, who waved his arms, clearly annoyed at having been disturbed, but he relaxed when the nurse placed him into Peter’s arms instead. 

Peter carefully cradled the baby’s head in one hand, and the rest of him in the other, his heart swelling as he looked down at his son. He couldn’t believe that he’d helped create the tiny human he held in two hands, that would someday grow to be a big human, one with hopes and dreams, and many, many accomplishments.

He brought himself back to the present, and looked at Harry, who was shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, looking very anxious.

“See how I’m holding him?” Peter asked, and Harry nodded. “Just like that. Or you could cradle his head on the crook of your elbow, and support his weight on your arms. Up to you.” 

“You look a bit faint,” the nurse commented from where she’d moved to check on one of the other babies, who’d started to fuss. 

“I’m okay,” Harry said, although his voice was hoarse. Peter smiled to himself as his friend cleared his throat. “It’s just my first time, holding a baby.” 

“You’ll be okay,” Peter assured. “Here.” 

He carefully slid Benjamin into the natural baby-cradle that Harry’s arms formed on first impact with the infant. Benjamin let out a quiet noise of discontent of having been moved, yet again, but once he was resting comfortably in Harry’s arms, he stopped squirming as much, and fell silent, eyes closed and face relaxed. 

Peter watched as Harry blinked down at Benjamin for a moment, looking a bit shell-shocked. Peter reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Breathe,” he reminded him, gently. 

Harry did so, slowly, out through his mouth, the corner of which quirked up in a small smile. He gently bounced Benjamin. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured. “You look like your dad, y’know that?” 

“Everyone’s said that,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “Poor kid.”

Harry scoffed, quietly. “Shut up,” he said, and then his expression softened again. His next words were directed towards the baby. “I - your parents mean a lot to me, which means that you mean a lot to me, now, too. Whatever you want or need, whenever, I’ll be there for you, Benny, okay?” 

“Benny,” Peter repeated, and Harry glanced up at him. 

“Yeah, it’s - that’s what everyone called Cheri’s _abuelo.”_

His name had been Benito. It had been part of the reason Cheri had been so quick to agree to Benjamin, Peter knew. 

He smiled. “Benny’s great,” he said. 

Harry looked relieved. He grinned back, and then down at Benjamin - Benny. “Hear that?” he asked him. “Courtesy of your Uncle Harry.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be very grateful,” Peter said, amused. 

He watched as his friend bounced his son a little bit more, cooing at him. Benny flapped his arms, and Harry laughed. 

“You’re trying to box me already huh, kid?” he teased. “Hope you don’t end up with your dad’s strength; you’ll kick my ass every time.” 

Peter’s smile fell, as Harry’s words sent a heavy weight plummeting into his stomach. He almost felt as though he’d been punched with the sudden dread that the very idea Benny might have inherited any of his Spider-Man attributes brought with it. 

“Oh, God,” he sighed, closing his eyes as he braced his hands against the edge of Benny’s bassinet, to keep himself upright. 

“Now _you_ look faint,” Harry commented. “I was just kidding. Wouldn’t you know by now, if he had?” 

Peter inhaled, slowly, trying to ease his anxiety. “I think that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” he asked, quietly, glancing over to where the nurse was checking a chart at a different bassinet. “That I won’t be able to know until he starts being able to do things on his own, or… I don’t know, starts crying all the time because he can hear _literally_ everything.” He shook his head. “And what then? I don’t - I don’t have any idea how I’d help a baby with my powers, Harry. I barely knew how to handle them when I was fifteen.” 

Harry sighed. “Well… you’re not alone, this time,” he said. 

That, at least, was true. Peter had Cheri with him, now, and even if he was the only one who could really be able to help any child they might have who ended up with his radioactive spider attributes, Cheri would be excellent moral support, and a sounding board. 

There was plenty that would go into having a spider-child, he knew, but he thought he could handle it, as long as Cheri was there. 

That was the way he felt about a lot of things, and he thought that that was good, considering they were married, and he was hopelessly in love with her, and everything. 

Peter let out a slow breath. “Harry,” he began, and his friend glanced up at him, his gentle bouncing of Benny slowly coming to a halt. Peter raised and lowered his shoulders. “I’m going to be an okay dad, right?” 

Harry immediately grinned at him. “Of course you are,” he said. “You and Cheri have been acting parents to Ned and I for years.” 

“This is going to be a lot different,” Peter pointed out. 

“Sure,” Harry said, “but at least you’ve had some practice in making sure that… humans don’t make decisions that end up killing themselves?” 

Peter creased his brow. “That’s not very reassuring at all.”

Harry clicked his tongue, and held Benny out to him. Peter took his son, and immediately felt his expression relax as he looked down at the baby. Benny blinked up at him, and then yawned, widely. Peter laughed a little, and Harry gestured. 

“Yeah, see?” he asked. “You’re doing great. Don’t think about it too much, Peter. You’re going to be an amazing dad.” 

Peter sighed, a little, and smiled down at Benny, before looking at Harry again. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry replied. 

“All right, gentlemen,” the nurse said, approaching them again. “I think Benjamin would like to go upstairs and see his mama.” 

“Yeah, and I better go with him,” Peter agreed, and he looked at Harry as he handed Benny back to the nurse, so that she could get him back into the bassinet. “How much did you win?” 

“Twenty bucks,” Harry said, looking pleased. “I’m getting tacos tonight.” 

Peter grinned. “Happy for you,” he said. “Uh, so, Mr. Stark is going to bring Dr. Strange over this weekend, but you and Ned could probably come over too, if you wanted.” 

“I’ll ask him what he thinks,” Harry said, and he reached over, patting Peter on the back. “I’ll see you later, either way, all right? Give Cheri a kiss for me.”

“I will,” Peter agreed. “Bye, Harry.” 

Harry ducked out of the newborn ward, and Peter walked from it a few minutes later with the nurse, who pushed Benny's bassinet towards Cheri’s room. 

When they got there, they found May and Isabel in there with her, still. Cheri was awake, and she was talking to both older women, looking a bit better rested than she had, which relieved Peter. 

“There he is,” Isabel said, spotting the bassinet. The nurse pushed it closer to the bed, and then nodded to Peter, who picked up his son, to take him to Cheri. Benny’s hands flexed open and closed several times, and Peter stopped cold when one of the tiny brown hands clamped down around his finger. He blinked down at where his son had grabbed onto him, stock-still, not wanting to break the moment. 

“Pete?” Cheri queried, and Peter forced himself to look up. She lifted her eyebrows, and he gaped wordlessly for a moment, before clearing his throat. 

“Sorry,” he managed. “Just - I love him so much.” He forced himself to move, and settled down next to Cheri on the bed, carefully transferring the baby to her arms instead. Benny had to let go of his finger, and Peter felt the loss immediately, but it was overshadowed by the bright joy that lit up in his chest like a candle flame when he saw his wife smile down at their son, holding him safely against her chest. 

“Hey there, sweet boy,” Cheri cooed. “You look a little sleepy.” She glanced up at May. “You got to hold him, right?” 

“I did,” May said. She was smiling down at Benny, and Peter was glad to see how bright with happiness her eyes were. “Tony stopped in, said he and Stephen plan on visiting this weekend?” 

Peter nodded. “Tony didn’t get to hold him, so.” He looked at Cheri, who was still grinning at Benny. “That’s okay, right?” 

“Of course it is,” she replied, and looked at her mother. “When will we be able to see Abuela?” 

“I could bring her over next week,” Isabel said, “or we could do Thanksgiving at your apartment this year, make things a bit easier.”

Cheri glanced at Peter. “That’s not a bad idea.” 

Peter hummed. “We’ll see how you feel about it when you aren’t exhausted and on pain meds,” he suggested, and then kissed the top of her head. 

Cheri shifted a little. “I think I want to stand up for a bit,” she said. 

“Okay,” Peter agreed, and he slid off the bed, to help her. Cheri, with a precision that Peter assumed all mothers were gifted with the moment their children were born, shifted Benny’s weight to one arm, and used the hand of the other to take Peter’s. She scooted to the edge of the bed, and then stood, exhaling slowly. 

“You’re okay?” Isabel asked. Both she and May looked ready to dive in and catch Benny, were Cheri to have a lapse in her steadiness. 

Cheri put both arms back into supporting the baby, and smiled at them. “I’m okay,” she assured, and then she walked around the bed, cooing to Benny as she went, towards the window on one wall. 

Peter joined her, after a moment, during which Isabel and May suggested they head out, to bring back some food for the two of them. When they’d left the room, closing the door behind them, he stepped up behind Cheri, and rested his chin against her head. She leaned back into him with a happy sigh, and Peter smiled to himself as he looked down at Benny, who’d fallen asleep again, it looked like. 

“I think he looks like you,” Cheri commented, her voice lowered. 

“Everyone’s said that,” Peter replied, and he could see it, too, in the shape of the baby’s face, his nose, and, unfortunately, his ears. Still, though, his eyes reminded Peter of Cheri’s more than his own. 

“Harry called him ‘Benny’,” he said, after a moment. 

Cheri seemed pleased by that. “Good,” she said. “That works, don’t you think?” 

“I think it works great,” Peter replied. He carefully brushed his hand over Benny’s head, and a heavy wave of emotion swept over him so quickly and harshly that he worried for a second he might collapse. He blew out a steadying breath. 

Apparently, Cheri heard it, and was able to decipher it for what it was. She glanced up at him, smiling slightly. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, quietly. He shook his head. “It’s just… I don’t know. A little hard to… grasp. We’re parents, now. We have a tiny human to care for, and to raise as best as we can, for at least the next eighteen years.” He looked down at Benny. “And it - I cannot believe how much I love him already, Cher.”

Cheri laughed. “It’s pretty alarming,” she said, “but not in a bad way.”

“No, definitely not in a bad way.” 

They fell silent again for a few minutes, looking down at their sleeping, newborn son, who seemed to vary in which parent he resembled more, depending on what you focused on in his features. 

Finally, Cheri said, “I agreed to host Thanksgiving, didn’t I?” 

“Pretty sure that’s what happened, yeah,” Peter replied. 

She sighed, and he smiled, kissing her temple. 

“It’s all right,” he said. “The apartment’s big enough, I think.”

“It’s not the apartment I’m worried about,” Cheri said. “It’s the kitchen. I’m not going to have nearly enough space to cook enough food for everyone.” 

Peter chortled. “That _would_ be the thing your mind goes to, first.” 

“It’s a _concern.”_

“It’ll be fine,” Peter told her. “Promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone accuses me of making Benny's birthday MY birthday because I felt like it... they'll be perfectly valid in their accusations.


	11. Thanksgiving, 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got plenty to be thankful for...

**November 26th, 2026 - 420 E. 51st. St., New York, NY, USA - 3:43 PM**

“Harry! God - be _careful,”_ Cheri exclaimed, holding out her hands in Harry’s direction. He’d just walked through the front door of her and Peter’s apartment, holding the glass pan that she’d instructed him to cook green bean casserole in. As he crossed into the apartment, he’d tripped over the threshold, and stumbled, the pan threatening to fall from his hands to the hardwood floor. Instead, Harry steadied himself, and frowned at her. 

“Thanks for your concern,” he said, sounding a bit bitter. He thrust the pan into her hands, and then stalked past her further into the apartment. Cheri blew out a breath, the curls hanging out of the bun she had her hair up in fluttering, and turned to face Ned, who looked apologetic. 

“Sorry about him,” her and Peter's other friend said, watching Harry’s movement across the apartment towards the living room area, where he flopped down on one of the couches, still with his coat on. Ned turned back to Cheri. “He’s been a little irritated all week, and I can’t get him to tell me why.” 

Cheri immediately frowned as her worries shifted from Thanksgiving to her oldest friend, and she turned to look at him. She considered what she could see of him, which was his profile, and concluded that she probably needed to talk with him, to figure it out for herself. If Ned couldn’t, she might be able to. 

“All right,” she said, and then gestured with her head for Ned to follow her into the kitchen, right off the entrance to the apartment. “Do you mind helping me?” 

“No,” Ned answered. “That’s why we’re here early.”

Cheri felt some tension disappear from her shoulders and neck, and she smiled gratefully at him as they stepped over into the kitchen. She shoved the casserole pan into the warmer beneath the stove, where it would wait until the rest of dinner was served. 

“Thank you, Ned,” she said, quietly, and then, unable to help herself, threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Ned returned it, although she could sense his concern, and she sniffled a little, pulling back and rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing. “God, I’ve - my emotions have been all over the place since we brought Benny home. Dr. Lyman says it's normal, but I was hoping to have more control over them by now.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ned suggested. “You’re hosting Thanksgiving for, what, almost ten people, three weeks after you had a baby. I think we can all understand why you might be a little frayed around the edges.” 

“Dammit, Ned,” Cheri mumbled, and then she managed a laugh. “You’re _actually_ going to make me cry.” 

Ned shifted his weight. “Sorry?” 

Cheri shook her head, and hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before she exhaled, shaking it off, and turned to the stove. “Okay,” she said. “So, the mashed potatoes are just the microwave kind, because they taste the same, and the turkey’s _almost_ done… I need to start the gravy.” 

“I can do that,” Ned suggested. “It’s just - you pour it into a pot and heat it up, right?” 

“Pretty much,” Cheri agreed, and she went about showing him what she did with her gravy. Mid-way through the process, she heard another knock on the door, and she looked over her shoulder. “Harry, do you mind getting that?” 

She saw her friend rise from the couch, and she turned back to the task at hand, watching Ned stir the gravy they’d put into a pot. “Good,” she said. “Don’t over-stir it, but don’t let it form a film on top, either.” She squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Ned. I’ll be right back.”

She moved around the wall that blocked the kitchen from sight of the front door, and smiled when she saw that Tony and Stephen had arrived, and were shrugging off their coats, both of which were dusted with snow. Harry scooted around her to retreat back to the living room, while she stepped closer to the two older men to greet them.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, as brightly as she could manage. 

“Hey,” Tony greeted, grinning at her, but she saw it fade after a moment, as he took her in. “You okay?” 

“Fine,” she assured, and she offered him a brief hug. More tears welled up in her eyes when Tony squeezed her just a bit tighter than normal, almost like in reassurance, and she quickly pulled away from him, turning so that he wouldn’t see her face. “Food’s almost ready. Do you guys mind listening for the door? Máma and Abuela should be here soon.”

“I can do that,” Stephen offered. Tony looked relieved, and Cheri understood why fairly quickly. She smiled again, and tilted her head towards the hall. 

“May and Peter are in with Benny,” she said. 

Tony immediately headed that direction, with a small spring to his step, and Cheri watched him go, smiling a little. Stephen leaned down to speak to her. 

“He’s infatuated.” 

“I know,” Cheri replied, glancing at him. “It’s - it almost makes me sad.”

“No,” Stephen murmured. “It’s a good thing. Benny is amazing. Considering you and Peter are his parents, Tony will do anything for him. He'll love him in that special way that only grandparents do their grandchildren. It’s normal.”

Cheri exhaled, and then nodded. She then frowned a little, and looked at where Harry had returned to the couch. “Stephen,” she began, “do you - I mean, I know you’re not a therapist, or anything, but Ned said that Harry’s been irritable, and I - I’m worried? Would you talk to him, see if you can find anything out?” 

She realized, as she finished speaking, that Stephen’s expression had shifted, and he would not look directly at her. Cheri furrowed her brow. 

“Stephen?” 

“Harry should speak to you on his own,” he said, voice lowered. “I promised I wouldn’t share anything with anyone who asked.” 

“So you already know,” Cheri concluded. “Know _what?”_

“Ask him,” Stephen answered, after a moment. 

“Stephen -”

“Cheri! Struggle in the kitchen!” Ned called from that direction, his voice lilting in a way that Cheri knew she couldn’t ignore. Although she wanted to continue her conversation with Stephen, she didn’t think she would get anything more from him. Annoyed, she rounded the corner back into the kitchen, and found Ned standing before the stove, frantically stirring the gravy, which was bubbling. 

“It - I think it’s too hot!” he said, frazzled. Cheri rolled her eyes, stepping up to the stove to adjust the heat for him. 

“You just turn the knob, Ned,” she told him, and then nudged him with her hip. “Move. I need to check the turkey.” 

“Are you going to pull stuffing out of its ass?” Ned asked, and she hummed, pulling open the oven door as she reached for the thermometer to stick into the bird. 

“That’s generally how stuffing is made, yeah.” She considered the temperature the thermometer beeped at her, and then closed the oven door again, straightening back up. “It needs a little bit longer. Why don’t you put the mashed potatoes into the microwave? You can read instructions on the bottom of the thing, can’t you?” 

Ned stuck out his tongue at her, and turned away from the stove towards the fridge. Cheri spooned up some of the gravy to taste it. Finding it satisfactory, she turned the heat down further, to keep it warm, and then considered the can of cranberry sauce that sat on the counter nearby. She’d only purchased it because it seemed to be the proper thing to do, but she didn’t expect anyone to eat it. Maybe she’d just shove it into the back of the pantry, and she and Peter would unearth it three years from now when they moved out of the apartment. 

Thrilled by the thought of this, she picked up the can and did just that, pushing it as far onto one of the shelves as she could, before returning to the stove, closing the pantry door as she went. Ned shuffled past behind her, carrying the microwavable mashed potatoes, which he placed into the microwave, then punched in a time. The microwave whirred to life, and Ned turned back to her. 

“I don’t know why you agreed to this,” he commented, sounding tired. “I’d never want to host Thanksgiving.”

Cheri smirked at him. “You know me,” she said. “Glutton for punishment.”

She heard her cell phone ringing from where it sat on the peninsula counter that split the kitchen off from the rest of the front room of the apartment. She crossed the kitchen, grabbing it and answering it just as the final ring ended. “Hello?” 

“Oh, Cheri.” It was her mother on the other end, although she didn’t _sound_ like her mother, Cheri noticed immediately. There was a strained quality to her voice that had never been there before, and Cheri immediately tensed, her grip on her phone tightening. 

_“¿Máma? ¿Que está mal?”_ she asked, although a dread that had settled heavily into her chest indicated that she already knew the answer. 

Indeed, when her mother managed _“Es Abuela,”_ in response, Cheri felt no surprise, only a growing sob that she swallowed down. 

_“¿Dónde estás?”_ she questioned, knowing that she needed to keep her feet until she could get to her mother. 

Her mother told her, citing the name of the hospital nearest to her own apartment, and Cheri assured her that she’d be there as soon as she could. She didn’t think it fair to ask what had happened over the phone, especially when she could tell that Isabel had only barely managed to draw herself together long enough to call Cheri and tell her the vaguest bit of information. She’d find out more at the hospital. 

She shoved her phone into her pocket, and turned to Ned. “I have to go.”

“Go?” he asked, looking confused, but then he must have read into her expression, because his own changed. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know exactly, but Abuela’s at the hospital,” Cheri answered, and she exited the kitchen. “Stephen, I need you.” 

“What’s going on?” he asked, rising from the couch, where he’d sat down next to Harry, who looked over at her. Cheri noted that his face read concern, no doubt having heard the way her voice was twisted as she struggled to keep a reign on her emotions. 

“Abuela’s at the hospital. Máma just called,” she said. “Can you get me there?” 

“Of course,” Stephen responded at once. “Which hospital?” 

Cheri told him, and he stepped into the space between Peter and Cheri's two armchairs and dining table to do his magic. Cheri looked at Harry as he stood up as well, looking a bit guilty, as well as worried. Cheri merely shook her head at him, a silent indication that they could talk later, as Stephen finished creating the portal to the hospital.

“Tell Peter,” she said, and then stepped through it, finding herself outside the main entrance. A few people looked at her in alarm as she hurried towards the glass front doors. She went through them, and then moved to the receptionist desk. 

“Maria Schultz,” she said. “I’m her granddaughter. My mom called and said she was here.” 

The receptionist lady typed into the computer for a moment. “She was taken into emergency surgery,” she said, and Cheri’s heart plummeted. “It looks like she had a heart attack. You’re welcome to go up to the third floor and wait for her.” She scooted the visitor sign-in sheet closer towards the side of the desk that Cheri stood on. 

Cheri forced herself to stay focused on the task at hand, and picked up a pen from a cup sitting nearby. She hurriedly scrawled in her information, and then headed for the closest elevator, taking it up to the third floor. She followed some signs to the surgery waiting area, and found her mother sitting in one of the ugly chairs up against one of the walls there. 

“Máma,” Cheri started, and hurried towards her. Isabel rose to meet her, and Cheri quickly wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, pressing her face to her shoulder. She heard Isabel crying softly as she stroked her hair. Cheri swallowed back her own tears, wanting to provide her mother comfort more than anything. 

She carefully guided Isabel back into her chair, and then sat in the one beside it, holding her mother’s hand between both of her own. She waited a few minutes, not looking at Isabel while she collected herself again, drying at her eyes with a very used tissue. Cheri suddenly wished that she’d thought to grab her own bag; she had a whole packet of tissues in there.

“What happened?” she finally asked, when her mother seemed to have calmed down enough to speak. 

Isabel shook her head. “She - she’d been complaining about chest pains, but she said that it was only indigestion, just phantom things from thinking about dinner tonight,” she murmured. “It - we were on the way down the stairs when she fell, and couldn’t get back up.” 

Cheri closed her eyes. “It was a heart attack?” 

“Yes,” Isabel answered. “The doctor said that the surgery is to clear the blockage, and try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“Okay,” Cheri said, quietly. She opened her eyes again. “It sounds like they think she’ll probably be all right.” 

“I think so,” Isabel replied. “It was just… it was scary, Cheri.” 

“I’m sorry you had to experience it, Máma.” She squeezed her mother’s hand, gently. “It was bad for us, when Mr. Stark had his, too.” 

That had been shortly after she’d graduated. Tony had decided, for no reason other than he felt like it, that he wanted to take Peter and Cheri out for lunch. Throughout the meal, Tony had been rubbing his shoulder and chest, and burping quite a lot more than normal. On the way out of the restaurant, he’d fallen, scaring the hell out of Peter and Cheri both. Thankfully, his hadn’t been very severe, and both Stephen and Bruce had been keeping an eye on his diet and physical activity to make sure it wouldn’t happen again, but sometimes Cheri thought of the moment when he’d simply collapsed, and be brought back to the feeling of pure terror that had filled her at the time, certain that she was about to lose the only father figure she’d ever known. 

She couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Isabel, however, to have had the same experience, but with her much older mother, who’d not only raised her, but helped raise her daughter. 

“They said the surgery shouldn’t take too long,” Isabel said, after a moment. She looked at Cheri. “I’m sorry you had to leave in the middle of cooking.”

Cheri merely shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m more worried about Peter. I didn’t say anything to him before having Stephen get me here. He’s probably panicking.” 

That much was proven when Peter himself appeared around the corner of the hall leading to the elevators, his face pale and his eyes wide. He spotted them, quickly, and Cheri stood up from her chair to meet him as he ran to her. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him, tightly, closing her eyes, glad to be enveloped into the safety of her husband’s arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked her, and Cheri managed a nod, although she felt herself fighting back the tears that she’d been dealing with since her mother had called, and she thought that she might not be able to hold them at bay any longer. 

Peter sensed it, she knew, and she saw it in his expression when he pulled back slightly from their hug, to look at her. He cradled her face between his hands for a moment, before he looked at Isabel. 

“Are _you_ okay?”

Isabel merely closed her eyes, and waved her hand. “The doctor said she should be fine, as long as the surgery goes well,” she said, and Cheri was impressed by her mother’s ability to so easily even-out her voice, to speak calmly and coherently. “It was the shock that really got to me. I’ll be all right.”

“It was a heart attack?” Peter clarified. Cheri and Isabel both nodded. Peter exhaled, and hugged Cheri to him again. She closed her eyes, pressing her face into his chest, wanting to disappear into the folds of the coat he’d thought to put on. She realized that she was shivering, because she’d forgotten to do the same, and outside, she knew the temperature had to be in the low thirties, if not in the twenties. 

“Here,” Peter said, shrugging the coat off and sliding it over her shoulders instead, before he hugged her once more. They sank down together into a chair, Peter holding Cheri on his lap. She thought they’d probably get some funny looks, but thankfully, there wasn’t anyone else in the surgery waiting room. The three of them sat in silence, Cheri finally letting a few tears leak out of her eyes as she huddled close to Peter, bundled inside of his coat. 

“Benny?” she asked, after wiping at her eyes. 

“He’s perfectly fine,” Peter assured. “He’s surrounded by people who would literally do anything for him.” 

That was true. May and Tony were one thing, both surrogate grandparents that held the special love Stephen had mentioned earlier for him, but Ned, Harry, and Stephen as well were something else, something that was almost just as special as the grandparent love. Benny would probably have no reason to cry for the next several hours, with so many people around to make sure that all of his needs were met, and would probably fight with one another to do so. 

Content in that knowledge, Cheri forced herself to relax as much as she could, knowing there was nothing at all she could do until someone came out to talk to them. She reached over to take her mother’s hand, and Isabel allowed her to do so. Her mother looked drained, but hadn’t broken down into tears again, which Cheri knew was a good sign. She was probably starving, she noted, and wondered if Peter might possibly be able to sneak some Thanksgiving dinner to them with Stephen’s help. After all, it was almost one-hundred percent certain that Abuela would need to spend the night in the hospital to recover from the surgery, and Isabel would want to stay with her, even if Abuela insisted she go enjoy Thanksgiving. 

The worst part of it all, Cheri thought, was that Abuela had been going to meet Benny, and instead she was in the hospital. If it wasn’t such a risk to bring Benny here, she’d suggest they do so, but she didn’t want to expose her infant son to anything that might’ve existed within the air of the hospital, and Abuela wouldn’t want her to do so, either. She and Peter would just have to bring Benny to see Abuela at some point in the future. No doubt she’d stay with Isabel for a while; her mother would refuse to let Abuela return to Washington Heights on her own. 

She pushed the thoughts away. Although it was something to think about rather than the fact that Abuela was in surgery, she didn’t really _want_ to be thinking about it. She knew her grandmother was getting on in years, almost seventy, but Abuela’s mother had died young. She didn’t want to pretend that Abuela was different, not when it was, genetically speaking, likely that she was not. Her father had died from heart failure, too, Cheri knew, when he was seventy-five. 

_That_ thought was frightening enough that Cheri had to close her eyes, and she turned her face into Peter’s shoulder, wanting to focus on literally anything else. She was no stranger to death, not with her grandfather having died when she was younger, but she also hated thinking about losing anyone else, especially when she felt she’d only just recently found contentment with her family situation. 

Peter’s grip on her tightened a little as he attempted to comfort her. She was grateful for him, grateful that he must have immediately asked Stephen to get him to the hospital, once he’d known what was happening. It wasn’t just for her, either, she knew; Peter cared about Abuela and Isabel, too, deeply. He was there for all three of them. 

“Do either of you want some coffee, or anything else?” Peter asked, as though he’d been reading Cheri’s thoughts, and wanted to prove them true. 

“No thank you, Peter,” Isabel murmured. Cheri noticed that her mother was staring into some point in the distance, her eyes glazed a bit. She reached over and gently touched Isabel’s arm with her fingers. Isabel blinked, which had been Cheri’s intention, and glanced over at her. Cheri lifted her eyebrows, just a little, and Isabel exhaled, her shoulders rising and falling with it, before she nodded slightly. 

Cheri, feeling a bit better about her mother’s state of mind, relaxed again. Peter rubbed her arm with his hand. 

“You don’t want any either?” he asked her, gently, speaking it into her ear. 

“No,” she said, her voice at the same level as his. “But thank you for offering.” She reached up and rubbed at her eyes for a moment, knowing that the makeup she’d put on in preparation for hosting Thanksgiving had to be ruined, by now. 

Not that it mattered. 

How long the three of them sat in the waiting room, Cheri couldn’t have said. She had no idea what time it had been when she’d arrived at the hospital, and she hadn’t thought to ask how long it had been since Abuela had gone into surgery. She thought she might have dozed off, and thus was a little woozy when Peter shifted beneath her, murmuring that the doctor was walking over. 

He helped her to her feet, and Cheri blinked at the woman who’d approached them. She was dressed in teal scrubs, and was still wearing a surgical cap. All the same, her eyes were gentle, and she didn’t seem to have brought bad news with her. 

“Maria Schultz’s family?” she queried, and Isabel nodded, having stood up as well. “Dr. Greene.”

“Is she all right?” Isabel asked, searching her face. 

“She’s going to be fine,” Dr. Greene replied, and Cheri let out a breath, reaching over to squeeze her mother’s hand, while Peter gently squeezed her shoulders. 

“Thank goodness,” Isabel breathed, color finally fading back into her cheeks. She reached forward to take the surgeon’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Dr. Greene said, with a small smile. “We’ll be moving her into recovery, and she’ll need to stay here overnight.” She looked between all three of them as Isabel released her hand. “I imagine that she would be highly disappointed if you stayed here instead of going home to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner.” 

Isabel shook her head. “I need to stay, at least until she’s been moved,” she said. “Which room will she be in?” 

“I’ll have a nurse come by and let you know, once she’s been transferred,” the surgeon replied. She offered them all another smile. “She’s a very strong woman, your matriarch. I spoke with her, briefly; she woke up from anesthesia extremely quickly, once she was out of surgery, and she was very lucid. She asked me to tell Cheri not to let the turkey burn on her account. Is that you?” 

Cheri managed a nod, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. “Sounds like her,” she said, wiping them away, and Peter rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. 

“I promised I’d pass the message along,” Dr. Greene concluded, and then she relaxed her shoulders. “I should get back. If you have any questions, Nurse DiMarco is the one to go to. Recovery is down on the second floor, if you’d like to go and wait for her to come by and tell you which room Mrs. Schultz is in.” 

“Thank you again,” Isabel said, and they watched the surgeon walk off. Once she’d pushed her way back into the surgery wing, Isabel turned to Cheri and Peter. “The two of you should go back to your apartment, have dinner. I can stay here with Abuela.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Cheri said at once, frowning. “It might take another hour for them to move her to recovery -”

“I’ll be fine,” Isabel told her, gently, reaching out to push her loose curls behind her ears. “You need to go home to Benny, and to your guests. You both have to be hungry.”

“You must be, too,” Cheri pointed out. “I’m not going to let you sit here by yourself.” 

“Cheri, go home, please,” Isabel insisted, cupping either side of her face. She pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then offered her a gentle smile. “I’ll call to let you know when Abuela’s settled into her room, and maybe Stephen won’t mind bringing you back, but for now, you and Peter should go and enjoy Thanksgiving with everyone else. It’s Benny’s first.” 

“But -”

“You won’t win this argument, _mjia,”_ Isabel pointed out, and Cheri heard the resolve set into her voice, the resolve that she used during department meetings at ESU to make it clear to her male colleagues that _she_ was the department head. 

Cheri’s shoulders fell. “I’ll just feel bad if I’m not here,” she mumbled. 

“Abuela wouldn’t expect you to be, not when you’re the hostess for today’s festivities,” Isabel said. Cheri didn’t respond, and her mother smiled. “You know I’m right.” 

She was. Once, when Cheri’s _abuelo_ Benito had landed himself in the emergency room after a SHIELD expedition with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, Abuela had stayed at the hospital long enough to find out if he was going to live before going home to start working on the set-up for the following day’s neighborhood _tamale-_ making tradition, which was routine every year, and not something she canceled. Ever. Benito hadn’t held it against her; how could he, when it was Maria Schultz’s job to host _tamale_ day, and everyone would’ve been let down if she hadn’t been able to? 

So, yes, Abuela knew something about not letting a non-fatal hospital visit block something that was pre-planned, and she would’ve been horrified if Cheri’s first Thanksgiving as hostess was ruined with her trip to a hospital because of a heart attack of all things. 

Cheri sighed. “If you’re sure she won’t be upset -”

“I am completely positive,” Isabel assured her. “Go home to your son. I’ll stay here with Abuela, make sure she isn’t lonely until the hospital asks me to leave because visiting hours are over, or until she insists I join you at your apartment.” She smiled a bit. “Which, I imagine, will be as soon as she realizes I stayed behind to wait for her.” 

“Okay,” Cheri said, after a moment, and she looked at Peter. He had his phone out, and he offered her a nod at her questioning expression. Maybe thirty seconds later, one of Stephen’s orange, glowing portals had opened up a few steps away. 

“Tell Abuela we love her,” Cheri said to her mother, who nodded in affirmation, and then waved her away towards the portal. 

Cheri stepped towards it, and Peter took her hand, helping her through it ahead of him, into the front room of their apartment. He followed right after her, and the portal closed. Cheri breathed outwards, and glanced around. Stephen stood nearby, lowering his hands to his sides, looking curious to hear about Abuela’s status. 

“She’ll be okay,” Cheri reported. “They’re keeping her at the hospital overnight, but it was just a normal heart attack, I guess. She just has to take the time to actually recover from it, and from the surgery.” 

Stephen smiled a little. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m sure your mother won’t allow her to _not_ recover properly.” 

Cheri managed to smile back, and then she headed for the kitchen to wash her hands. Ned was still in there, and Harry had joined him, Cheri was happy to see. They were standing in front of the oven, and seemed to be in the middle of an argument. 

“- it’s going to get burnt,” Harry was insisting as Cheri walked up behind them.

“It is not,” Ned retorted. “Are you blind? It’s barely browned.” 

“Cheri’s been cooking it since one,” Harry said. “It’s almost five, now. It’s done.” 

“She only has the oven at 350, dingus!” 

“That’s the temperature you’re supposed to slow-cook a turkey at, doofus.”

“It’s probably done,” Cheri said, startling them both. She smiled to herself, and went over to the sink instead to wash her hands. She finished scrubbing them just as Peter entered the kitchen himself, cradling Benny. The infant was fast asleep, bundled up in the goofy little onesie that May had bought him specifically for Thanksgiving. 

Cheri stepped over to her husband, and leaned over her son, pressing a gentle kiss to his head. Benny scrunched his nose a little, but otherwise remained undisturbed. Cheri smiled up at Peter, and then turned to Ned and Harry, both of whom were watching her, closely. 

“What?” 

“We didn’t think you’d be back,” Harry explained, quietly. “Is Abuela okay?”

“She will be,” Cheri replied. “She had a heart-attack, and they did surgery, but I think as long as she takes the time to recover properly, she’ll be all right.”

Harry nodded, after a moment. He looked relieved. He’d spent a lot of time at Cheri’s grandparents’ apartment, when they were young, and so he was fairly close with Abuela. 

“That’s good,” Ned said. Cheri didn’t miss the way he was standing in front of the oven, as though trying to block her view of it. “Are you going to go back to the hospital?” 

“Máma insisted we come home, to have Thanksgiving,” she said. “She told me that Abuela would be upset if we didn’t, on account of her. Abuela herself said as much to her surgeon.” She tilted her head. “That is, if we even have a turkey left to eat. What did the two of you do to my bird?” 

“Nothing,” Ned said at once. 

“Which is exactly the problem,” Harry put in. “I told him we needed to take it out twenty minutes ago, but he wouldn’t let me.” 

“That’s because you know fu - _fork-_ all about cooking,” Ned said, quickly altering his original choice of vocabulary for the sake of the sleeping baby in Peter’s arms. 

Cheri glanced at her husband, who was smiling a bit. He shook his head, a silent _They’re your problem, it’s your kitchen, your turkey,_ before he walked away again, back over to the living room, taking Benny with him. Cheri sighed, and looked back at their two friends. 

“I appreciate you both rising to the task of trying to deal with the food I left in the middle of cooking, without leaving any instructions behind,” she said. “And neither of you are at fault for your own opinions about what to do with the turkey. It’s going to be a little dry, but that’s nothing some gravy can’t solve. It’s all okay.” 

“See?” Ned mumbled to Harry, who responded by reaching over and whacking him on the back of his head, but not hard enough to hurt. Cheri waved them both out of the way of the oven, grabbing two mitts as she went so that she could pull the turkey out of it. She set it down on the stove, which had been cleared of pots, no doubt because Ned had taken everything off and shoved as much into the warmer as he could. She then considered the turkey as she pulled her oven mitts off, tossing them onto the counter again. 

“It’s fine,” she said, after a moment, and held out her hand. “Someone hand me a spoon. We’ve got some stuffing to get out of this turkey’s ass.” 

About twenty minutes later, Cheri stood against the small peninsula counter dividing the kitchen from the front room of the apartment, directing the assembly line that had formed within the kitchen so that everyone could get whatever they wanted on their plates. Tony had tried to convince her to get her food, first, but she’d refused, saying that captains ate last. 

May reached over to touch her shoulder reassuringly as she moved to sit down at the dining table, plate in hand. Cheri managed a grateful smile in response. She moved around Stephen to step back into the kitchen proper, which had finally cleared out, eyeing what remained of each food item to reassure herself that there would be enough.

“Hey.” She jumped when a gentle hand nudged her arm, and Tony clicked his tongue. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” 

Cheri breathed outwards, and managed a nod. “Just a little frayed around the edges,” she said, repeating Ned's phrase from earlier to describe her state of being. “Do you need something?” 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Tony answered. “Have you heard from your mom?” 

“No.” Cheri lifted one shoulder. “She said she would call when Abuela was given a private room in recovery, but I don’t really know how long that was going to take, so I’m kind of just… trying to focus on literally everything else.” 

Tony offered her a small smile. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he apologized, and then gestured down towards his plate with a tilt of his head. “The food all looks good, at least.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Cheri agreed, trying to mirror his smile, but knowing that she failed pretty horribly. She swallowed, sensing the rise of unbidden tears in her eyes, and she quickly reached out to squeeze his arm. “Enjoy, okay?” 

She moved around him, back around the counter, and went down the hall to her and Peter’s bedroom. She closed the door partially behind her, and then sank down on the edge of their bed, inhaling shakily as a couple of tears raced down her cheeks. 

“Cher?” The door opened again, and she looked up at Peter. He frowned. “Talk to me.”

Cheri wanted to, but unfortunately, when she opened her mouth to speak, what came out instead was a sob that tore its way so violently from her throat, she knew it would be sore for a while afterwards. She quickly bowed her head, so that she could cry into her lap, rather than up at him, although she should’ve expected him to hurry over to the bed and sit down beside her, pulling her into his chest. Feeling ridiculous, she turned her face into the soft fabric of the sweater he was wearing, and cried into it instead. 

Peter rubbed her back, gently, murmuring soft words of comfort into the top of her head as he did so. She noticed that he made no effort to try and verbally quell her tears, didn’t say, “Shh, calm down,” or “You don’t need to cry, I’m here.” Instead, he merely held her, whispering things that in no way invalidated her crying, or made her feel like an idiot for having a breakdown at all. 

“I’m s-sorry,” she managed, as best she could, although she could barely understand herself. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t understand, either. 

“Don’t apologize.” Of course he’d understood her after all. “It’s been a long, hard day, you’re worried about Abuela, and you had a baby three weeks ago. You’re allowed to cry, Cher.” 

“I j-just f-feel like an id-idiot,” she sobbed, having to pause to suck in a harsh breath between each word, and sometimes in the middle of one. She felt like she was going to throw up. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” Peter murmured. She felt him shake his head. “You are not an idiot for needing to have a moment like this. You’re obviously stressed, and exhausted, and you’ve been holding it back. I’m glad you’re letting it out, even though I wish you would’ve said something earlier, so you wouldn’t have needed to cry this hard.” 

Cheri hiccupped, and pressed her face more firmly into his pec for a moment, before she forced herself to raise her head, and look up at him. Peter responded to this by pressing a kiss to her forehead. He then wiped away remnants of her tears with his thumbs. 

“Here,” he said, reaching for the box of tissues that sat on the nightstand closest to them. Cheri pulled two out of it, and blew her nose. 

“Ugh,” she mumbled, folding the tissue she’d blown into over, and wiping at whatever wetness remained on her face with the other. “Peter -”

“It’s okay,” he assured, and kissed her forehead again, and then both eyelids, gently, the same gentleness he used to kiss Benny. He cradled her face between his hands, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It’s just everything, right?” Cheri nodded, and Peter furrowed his brow, glancing between her eyes. “Do you think you need to go see a postpartum therapist, like Dr. Lyman suggested?” 

“No, I don’t - I’m not _depressed,_ Pete,” Cheri sighed, reaching up to take his hands in hers, pulling them away from her face. “I’m just - I guess choosing to host Thanksgiving wasn’t the best idea, when I’m getting up to take care of Benny multiple times a night, and Abuela’s heart attack just… it was the best way to crack my resolve to hold it together today.” 

“Maybe we should go back to the hospital,” Peter suggested, after a moment. “You’re obviously not having a good time here, and you’re worried about her. It might be better for you to be there, at least until you know for sure that she’s okay.” 

“I don’t want to leave everyone here,” Cheri replied, shaking her head. “Abuela would be upset with herself, and with me.” She squeezed his hands. “Thank you for being willing to do that, but… I do think staying here is the better option. I can go see Abuela tomorrow.” 

“If you’re sure.” She nodded, and Peter offered her a small smile, his brow relaxing. He leaned forward, and Cheri accepted the light kiss he placed on her lips. “Are you going to come eat with us?” 

“I will,” Cheri said. “I’m just gonna clean up a bit better in the bathroom.” She rubbed her thumb beneath her eye, unsurprised when it came away black from her eye makeup. “Might as well just wash my face.” 

“Okay,” Peter agreed. He stood up from the edge of the bed, and started towards the bedroom door. Cheri called him to a halt, and he glanced back at her. She gestured to her chest. 

“You might want to change your shirt. That one’s wet, and… and snotty.” 

Peter glanced down at his own chest, and let out a small laugh. “Right,” he said, and went over to the closet to find a different sweater. Cheri got up as well, and stepped into their en-suite, looking at herself in the mirror over their sinks, and flinching. Her face was blotchy, her eyes were red and tired-looking, and her nose was rubbed raw. She looked like shit. 

She took maybe five minutes in the bathroom to wash her face, and breathe, so that when she went into the dining room, she wouldn’t look as though she’d just spent the last ten minutes crying her eyes out. She fixed her shirt, tugging it down (she hadn’t quite lost all the weight she’d put on during the pregnancy, yet, although she was trying), and then stepped out of the bathroom, and then out of the bedroom into the hall. 

As she walked down it, and got closer to the dining area, she could hear the pleasant chatter coming from it as her guests talked to one another over the food that she’d cooked for them. She breathed outwards one final time, about to walk out of the hall and into the front room of the apartment, when she heard a quiet fussing coming from the room that had become Benny’s nursery. 

Immediately, she turned tail, and headed for it instead, pushing open the partially closed door all the way. She walked over to his crib, and found her son twisting around inside of it, clearly agitated. Cheri smiled to herself, and leaned into the crib to scoop him up. 

_“Shh, tranquilo ahora,”_ she soothed, lifting him to her shoulder and rubbing his back. She carried him over to the rocking chair in one corner of the room (a gift from Steve), and sat down in it, adjusting him until he was cradled in her arms instead. She pressed her foot against the floor to get the chair moving, looking down at Benny. 

“You were supposed to meet Abuela today,” she murmured to him. “That isn’t the plan anymore, but hopefully soon.” She used one finger to brush some of the curls back off of his forehead. Benny batted at her hand with his own, which were wrapped in those little infant gloves that made sure they didn’t scratch their faces while they were sleeping. Cheri could feel herself relaxing, just from having her son in her arms, and she leaned her head back against the rocking chair. 

“You should be sleeping,” she said, and Benny responded by squirming a bit in her grasp. She chuckled, and adjusted her grip on him, to maintain a safe cradle of her arms despite his movement. _“¿Cómo una canción de cuna entonces?_ Hm?” Benny waved his arms, and Cheri let out a breath, considering which lullaby she wanted to sing to him this time. 

She smiled, recalling one that Abuela had used to sing to her whenever she’d have a nightmare as a young girl. 

_“Paloma blanca de piquito azul_ _  
_ _Llévame en tus alas._

 _“Si niñito es bueno yo te llevaré_ _  
_ _Porque con mamita te has portado bien._

 _“Ella no comía ni un grano de arroz_ _  
_ _Y se mantenía con el corazón._

 _“Ola, ola, ola_   
_Ola de la mar,_ _  
¡Qué bonita ola para navegar!”_

Benny, throughout the lullaby, which Cheri had sung lowly, sweetly, had relaxed within her arms, until his face, which had been scrunched up, had eased, the lines on his forehead disappearing. Cheri let out a sigh, and closed her own eyes for a moment. 

“That was a nice song.” She opened her eyes again, and found Harry standing in the doorway of the nursery, hands in his pockets. He had spoken quietly, which Cheri was grateful for. She tilted her head, inviting him into the room, and Harry stepped inside. He walked over to the rocking chair, and she saw the corner of his mouth lift when he looked down at Benny. 

Cheri carefully rose from the rocking chair, Harry moving out of her way, and she gingerly placed Benny back into his crib, hoping he’d stay asleep this time. She checked to make sure the baby monitor was still working, and then ushered Harry out of the room ahead of her. When they were both out into the hall, she closed the door, more fully this time, and turned to her friend. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” she asked him. 

“Ah, you know I’m not a big turkey guy,” Harry said. “So I had some stuffing and mashed potatoes, and that was it for me. Peter kept looking for you, but then the monitor alert on his phone went off, so we figured you’d gone to check on Benny.” 

“Yeah, I think the noise at the table probably woke him up,” Cheri said. She tilted her head, looking her friend over. “Are you doing okay, Harry?” 

“Are you?” he returned, and Cheri shook her head. 

“Please don’t turn this around on me. I really am worried about you. Ned says you’ve been irritable for almost a week now.” She reached out, and gently squeezed his arm. “Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, before he sighed, and slid his hand into hers. “Come on,” he said, quietly, and pulled her back in the direction of her and Peter’s bedroom. Once they’d reached it, Cheri turned to partially close the door, and then looked back at him, waiting. 

Harry slid his hands back into his pockets, and paced back and forth a few steps, his eyes on the floor. Eventually, however, no doubt when he’d pulled his thoughts together, he looked back up at her. Cheri frowned when she realized that he seemed… very upset. 

“What’s going on?” she prompted, gently. 

Harry blew out a breath. “I’ve - Dr. Banner, Stephen, and I - we’ve been trying to… to figure out if we can get rid of the thing in my brain that causes my illness,” he explained. 

Cheri blinked at him. “You didn’t mention -”

“I know,” Harry said, “but I didn’t - I didn’t really want to, just in case I got everyone’s hopes up for nothing.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. “And based on how the past few weeks have been going, it seems that that’s the case. There’s - we were pretty excited, at first, because it seemed like the different levels we were monitoring were changing the way we wanted them to, but it - that hasn’t been happening, recently. We don’t know if it’s… if it’s going to be impossible to completely eradicate the illness, or if it’s already built up an immunity to the treatment we’ve been doing, but… but it doesn’t seem like it’s going away.” 

“Harry.” Cheri stepped forward, and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “I wish you would’ve said something. I would’ve given you whatever support you needed throughout it all -” 

“I know that,” Harry assured, hugging her back. “I just - I didn’t want anyone else to feel the way I’ve been feeling. Excited at first, but slowly it’s - it’s faded, as the efforts we’ve been putting in have stopped having an effect, and I’ve just… well, you know, you could tell pretty much as soon as I walked into the apartment.” 

Cheri pulled back, looking up at him, her brows drawn together. “The levels - have they been stable, or are they rising again?” 

“They’re stable,” Harry said, and Cheri squeezed his arms. 

“That’s good, then,” she encouraged. “It means it isn’t repopulating, or whatever it is they say about diseases coming back to life.” Harry bowed his head a little, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “It’s _good,_ Harry.” 

“Maybe,” he said, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m still sick.” 

“But the fact that you’ve been able to lower those levels at all, and that they’re staying that way, is a good sign,” she told him. “Right? It implies that more can be done, you just have to figure out what that is.” She smiled at him. “This is fantastic.” 

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you we were doing this,” Harry insisted, shaking his head. “You’re excited now, but when nothing changes -”

“Hey, don’t think like that,” Cheri interrupted. “Your pessimism is showing, Harold. Think positively. It’s good that anything happened at all, right? And it implies that more could happen in the future, with the right efforts?” 

“Well -”

“Harry.” He met her eyes. “Please don’t keep things like this from me. I want to know how you are. I worry constantly. You know that.” 

She was relieved when Harry smiled. “I do know that, you’re kind of annoying about it,” he agreed.

“Exactly,” Cheri said, grinning back, “and it’ll get worse the less you keep me in the loop.” She placed her hands in his. “So do that, okay? For the good and the bad.” 

Harry looked at her for a moment, before he seemed to give in. His expression dissolved in a way that she was very familiar with, and he nodded. Cheri leaned up to hug him again, wrapping her arms around his neck, eyes closed. 

“I love you, you tit,” she murmured. 

Harry chuckled. “Love you too, shrew.”

After a moment, she pulled away, and took his hand in hers again, swinging it a little. “I should try to eat something,” she said, as she tugged him out into the hall, and down towards the front room of the apartment. “Will you come with me to see Abuela tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” Harry answered. “I’ll feel really bad if I don’t.” 

Cheri smiled at him, and let his hand go as they stepped out of the hall. Peter, who’d been sitting at the dining table with his chin in one hand, clearly not interested in eating, suddenly looked much happier at the sight of her. He stood up, scooting around the table, and moved to meet her and Harry, looking first at him, and then at Cheri. 

“You’re okay?” he asked, and Cheri managed a smile for him, and then a nod. Peter exhaled, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. 

“We saved some food for you,” Ned said brightly from his own seat at the table, and Cheri turned her smile to him instead. 

“Great,” she replied. “I hope it’s stuffing.”

Just as she was sitting down with her plate (which had plenty of stuffing on it), her phone vibrated in her back pocket. She pulled it out, and read the text from her mother, before exhaling a relieved sigh. Abuela had been transferred to recovery, and apparently, she was acting as though nothing had even happened. She showed Peter the message, and his shoulders relaxed as he smiled at her, handing her phone back. Cheri returned it to her pocket, and settled down at the dining table, looking around at her guests. 

“So,” she started, “who wants to be the first to say what they’re thankful for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that I would do anything for Harold T. Osborn, including fixing my own canon so that he can get even somewhat better from the goblin illness that was imposed upon him? 
> 
> I love him so much.


	12. Christmas, 2026 (Benny's First Christmas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't let me change my heart...  
> 'Cause I believe in you.

**December 25th, 2026 - 420 51st. St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 11:21 AM**

“Look at you, you’re so cute!” May gushed, reaching up to take Benny from Peter as he held his son out to her. She laid him on her thighs, cradled safely between them, and fiddled with the tiny beanie that he had on. His dark brown curls were poking out from beneath it, and he blinked his wide brown eyes up at her. 

“You’re the sweetest boy,” May continued, brushing her finger over his nose in a way that they’d learned made Benny squirm with delight, flapping his arms to show his enjoyment. At first, Peter and Cheri had worried it was an adverse reaction, but their pediatrician had assured them that it was actually Benny’s two-month-old way of showing he liked something. It was a common-enough response from babies his age. Apparently, too, the finger thing was helping Benny to develop his object tracking, which sounded good to his parents. 

Peter smiled at his aunt as she cooed over his son, and then he turned to look towards the kitchen, where Cheri was messing around with the meal she was cooking for Christmas Day, which everyone who’d attended Thanksgiving was coming over to their apartment to enjoy. Peter had been worried about Cheri hosting yet another holiday, and so soon after the Thanksgiving Fiasco of 2026, but she’d assured him that she was all right. He thought she was telling the truth, too; her mood swings had all but disappeared over the last month, and she was back to normal. 

Aside from the exhaustion that came from having a baby, of course, but he felt that too, so it wasn’t like she was alone in that specific struggle. 

He moved around the counter into the kitchen to join her, scooting up behind her and moving her hair over her shoulder, to kiss her neck. 

“Stop it,” she said, although he could hear the smile in her voice. She glanced over her opposite shoulder, in the direction of the living room, and then faced the stove again. “Your aunt is _right over there.”_

“Hey, you should’ve seen her and Uncle Ben,” Peter replied, and Cheri chortled, turning down the heat on one of the burners she was using, before she turned around in his arms so that she was facing him, sliding her own up around his neck and pulling him down enough so that she could press a kiss to his lips.

“Have you heard from Tony?” she asked, kissing him again. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think so,” Peter answered, keeping one arm around her waist and kissing her for a third time while his other hand pulled his phone from his pocket. He turned his eyes in the direction of his phone while he kissed her forehead, checking the screen for notifications, but seeing none. He shrugged, and put his phone into his pocket again, and his arm back around her waist. Cheri grinned through the kiss that followed these actions, and then pressed lightly against his chest. 

“Stop distracting me,” she said. “I need to focus on this food so we don’t end up having burnt chicken tacos this Christmas.”

“Mm, crispy,” Peter returned, grinning at her, and Cheri rolled her eyes, turning back around to face the stove again. Peter lingered behind her for a few more seconds, squeezing her waist, before he relented and stepped away again, just as there was a knock on the front door. 

He scooted out from around the wall blocking the kitchen off from it, glancing over to the living room to check on his aunt and his son, before he pulled the door open. 

“It’s snowing like a bitch out there,” was Harry’s greeting, as he pushed his way into the apartment, tossing his snow-soaked coat into Peter’s chest. Thankfully, Peter was able to catch it before it could hit the floor instead, turning to watch Harry as he moved into the apartment, shuddering. 

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” he said, blithely, and then turned to Ned, who rolled his eyes, stepping into the apartment as well as he tugged off his own coat. 

“You know how he gets when he’s cold,” he said, and Peter sighed, but all the same turned to hang both their coats on the wall rack near the door. 

“Is it really snowing that bad?” he asked Ned, who’d leaned around the corner to look into the kitchen, no doubt to see if Cheri needed help. 

“Not really,” his friend answered. “Harry exaggerates, but it’s - I mean, there’s probably four inches on the ground already, and it’s supposed to keep snowing until midnight.” 

“Mm.” Peter closed the front door, and headed across the apartment towards the living room, where Harry had sank down onto the couch, and covered himself with the dark blue throw blanket they had, shivering beneath it. Peter eyed him. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“I have thin skin!” Harry retorted. He blew out a breath, and huddled further beneath the throw. “Ugh, why do you guys keep it so damn cold in here?” 

“The temperature’s at sixty-nine,” Peter informed him, turning to check the thermostat. He nodded, and gestured to it with one hand. “See?” 

“Sixty-nine is _cold,”_ Harry insisted. 

“It is a little cold,” May agreed. “Shouldn’t it be at least seventy-two in here, for Benny’s sake?” 

Peter furrowed his brow, and looked at his son, who was contentedly batting at May’s fingers as she waved them over his face. Peter turned his gaze back to his aunt. “Seems fine to me.” 

“Listen Peter, just because you don’t feel the cold, and Cheri’s warm-blooded, doesn’t mean the rest of us are impervious to it,” Harry told him. “Please raise the temperature.” 

Peter sighed, faux-weary, and turned back to the thermostat. He made it a point to turn it up the three degrees very obviously, so that Harry wouldn’t be able to complain that he hadn’t actually done it. 

“There,” he said, waving his hand at it. “Happy?”

“I will be, when it actually warms up,” Harry mumbled, and he scooted over on the couch so that he could join May in making goo-goo faces at Benny. 

Peter shook his head, amused, and went over to the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the front room, leaning against it. Griffin, who’d been lounging on the granite countertop, examined him through one slitted amber eye, before deciding that his presence was acceptable, and relaxing again. Peter watched as Cheri handed Ned a wooden spoon, instructing him to stir the rice she was making, before she noticed him standing at the counter. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“Harry’s sensitive,” Peter replied, and shrugged. “Nothing new.”

Cheri smiled in amusement, and there was yet another knock on the door. Peter went to answer it again, and beamed at Isabel and Abuela when he found them on the other side. 

_“Feliz Navidad, mijo,”_ Abuela greeted, smiling warmly. Her wrinkled cheeks were tinged with a bit of pink from the cold air outside, and both of their shoulders were dusted in snow. 

_“Feliz Navidad,”_ Peter returned, stepping out of the way so that they could enter the apartment. Abuela reached up to pat his cheek as she moved past him, while Isabel leaned in to kiss it, already halfway out of her coat by the time she was inside. 

“Here, Máma, let me help,” she said, after passing her coat over to Peter, and moving to help Abuela with hers. The older woman waved her off, clearly a bit annoyed. 

“I had a heart attack, Isabel. I didn’t break my arm.” She shrugged out of her coat like it was nothing, and tossed it in Peter’s direction, before rubbing her hands together. “Where is my great-grandson?” 

Peter hung their coats on the rack as well, and then walked back over to the living room, just as Abuela settled down into one of their armchairs. May passed Benny off to Isabel, who gushed over her grandson just the same as Peter’s aunt had, and then handed him off to her mother. Abuela took Benny skillfully into her arms, murmuring to him in soft Spanish as she did so. 

“He’s grown so much since I saw him last,” Isabel said to Peter, who nodded, puffing his chest out a bit in pride for his son. 

“He’s almost thirteen pounds, and he’s grown three inches,” he said, brightly. “He’s bigger than average, since he isn’t even two months, yet.” 

“It’s the milk,” Abuela said, wisely. “Fattens them up quickly.” 

“Dr. Kramer says that he’ll be laughing soon, too,” Peter said. He then remembered something, and held up his hands. “Oh! And he did something amazing this morning!” He quickly pulled out his phone again, reaching for the TV remote so that he could connect the phone to the bigger screen, for everyone to see. 

“Peter,” he heard Cheri sigh from the kitchen. “It wasn’t anything to gawk at.” 

“Shh,” he said, tapping at his phone’s screen a few times. After a moment, it was mirrored on the TV, and he waved his hand at it. “Okay, ready? Watch.” 

He hit the play button of the video on his phone, and it began to play on the TV as well. Peter shifted his weight back and forth between his feet excitedly as the video he’d captured that morning played out. 

It showed, first, the shaky movements of the phone camera as he darted into the nursery, having had to run and get it before he missed what had been happening. After a moment, it corrected itself, and Cheri appeared on the screen, standing at Benny’s changing table. 

“Okay,” Peter’s voice said, coming through the TV speakers. “See if you can get him to do it again.”

On-screen Cheri seemed exasperated, much like she did in real-life. “Queens -”

“Please, Cheri,” video-Peter insisted, and on-screen Cheri sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with it, before she looked down at their son, who was laying on the changing table, feet kicking, already dressed in the outfit he was currently wearing. 

“Benny,” Cheri started, in the voice that she reserved solely for their son. _“Mijo.”_

On-screen, Benny’s attention turned to his mother, and the phone camera zoomed in a little on the baby as Cheri could be heard starting to sing, in her impeccable Lin-Manuel Miranda impersonation: 

_“You’ll see the late nights_ _  
_ _You’ll taste beans and rice_   
_The syrups and shaved ice_ _  
_ I ain’t gonna say it twice -”

On-screen, Benny had broken out into a smile, and was waving his arms in delight. “Aye-aye!” he cooed, to Peter’s belief in an effort to mock the rhymes his mother was currently singing to him. 

“He’s rapping!” Peter’s own delight was apparent in his voice, which came through the TV speaker as the camera turned to Cheri again, who rolled her eyes. 

The video ended, and Peter looked around at the audience, waiting for their enthusiastic response. Abuela merely smiled, and turned her attention back to real-life Benny, who was currently trying to swipe at her glasses. 

“Come on,” Peter said, lowering his phone. “He was rapping! Or trying to!” 

“Yeah, the kid’s got talent for sure,” Harry said, snickering a little, and Peter glowered at him, before looking at his aunt and his mother-in-law. 

“You heard it, right?” he asked them. 

“Definitely,” May said at once, while Isabel pursed her lips, and sat down in the armchair beside Abuela’s so that she could play with Benny as well. 

Ned, who’d walked over to the peninsula counter that divided the kitchen from the front room of the apartment so that he could see the video as well, lifted his shoulders when Peter turned to him. 

“I mean, he was definitely… sort of making the same vowel sound that the words had?” he ventured, and Peter tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Tony will like it,” he decided, just as there was a third knock on the front door. 

He slid his phone into his pocket again, and went over to open it. Tony stood there, bundled up, hauling a giant sack behind him. 

“Hey,” he greeted Peter, moving into the apartment past him, tugging the sack in after him. Peter frowned at it as it dragged over the floor and across the threshold, before Tony dropped it in favor of tugging off his coat. 

“What is that?” Peter asked him, pointing to the sack. 

“Presents,” Tony said. “Duh.”

“Tony,” Cheri sighed, sticking her head around the corner leading into the kitchen. “We agreed we weren’t doing presents.” 

“Well, I didn’t _like_ that decision, so I got enough presents for everybody,” Tony informed her, and he tossed his coat to Peter, turning towards the living room. “Merry Christmas, misshapen but happy family!” 

The others greeted Tony in a similar manner as Peter hung up his coat, and then turned to close the front door, before he realized that Tony had not arrived with the person that Peter had expected him to. He poked his head out into the hall, and checked to make sure that he hadn’t merely been lagging behind, before closing the door again, and turning towards the living room, frowning. 

“Tony, where’s Stephen?” he asked. 

“Wizard thing, I dunno,” Tony responded. “What’s this Harry’s saying about Benny rapping?” 

“Oh, let me show you,” Peter said, forgetting all about Stephen at once, and reaching for his phone. As he tugged it out of his pocket, however, it began to ring, and he frowned when he saw that Stephen himself was calling him. 

He answered the call, and then slowly raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Peter, hey,” Stephen said. The ex-brain surgeon sounded a little breathless, Peter noted, which he knew immediately couldn’t be a good thing. 

“Hi,” he said, carefully. “What’s going on?” 

“I need your help,” Stephen answered. “Well, Spider-Man’s help. Can you come?” 

“Uh… hang on a second.” Peter looked at Cheri, who was already watching him, an eyebrow lifted. He tilted his head in the direction of their bedroom, and she dropped the dish towel she’d been wiping her hands with, following him towards it. When they were both inside, he closed the door, and then put the phone on speaker. 

“You do know it’s Christmas, right?” he asked, and Stephen cursed. 

“I forgot, that’s today there, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Peter, I wouldn’t ask unless it was incredibly important, and it is.” 

“Sorry, it’s today _there?”_ Cheri questioned, obviously unable to keep it to herself. 

Stephen sighed. “I’ve been bouncing around a bit recently,” he said. “I’ve lost track of the time in our timeline. Peter?” 

“Stephen, I can’t - I mean, I _would_ come help, but it - it’s _Christmas,_ and everyone is here. _You’re_ supposed to be here,” Peter pointed out. 

“I know,” Stephen said, “and I could probably still get there, with enough time to eat with all of you and catch the four o’clock showing of the _Charlie Brown Christmas Special,_ but _only_ if you come, now.” Something crashed in the background, very clearly, and Stephen cursed again. 

“Shit, okay,” Peter said, and Cheri looked up at him, eyes wide. He held up a hand. “The Sanctorum?” 

“Yes, please, as quickly as you can,” Stephen responded. “I would create a portal for you, but I’m a bit preoccupied.” He hesitated. “And don’t be alarmed if the windows on the third floor are blown out when you get here.” 

“Wait, Stephen -” The call ended before Peter could finish, and he stared down at his phone for a moment, before he passed it to Cheri and went over to their closet. 

“Uhm, excuse me!” his wife started from behind him, as he rustled around in the back of the closet to retrieve his suit. “Pete, it is Christmas Day. Our family is here, and the food is almost ready.” 

“I know,” Peter replied, “but you heard what was going on over there. Apparently, it’s a big deal, and if Stephen called to ask me for help, I can’t just ignore it. Stephen never asks for help, he’s like - like magic Tony.”

He started to undress, yanking down his jeans and then tugging his sweater off over his head, before he began to slip into his suit. It had been a few weeks since he’d worn it; he’d told Georgia Carr, New York’s chief of police, that Spider-Man wouldn’t be on the streets very often for the next few weeks, right before Benny had been born, because he’d wanted to be at home to help take care of him. Only once or twice had she called to ask for Spider-Man’s help, and Peter had gone, because that was what he did. It was what he planned to do for Stephen, too. 

Cheri watched him get changed, looking somewhere between frustrated and worried. When he’d finished changing, he grabbed his mask in one hand, and approached her, reaching up to cup her face in the other. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

“What am I supposed to tell everyone?” she asked him, obviously resigned to the fact that he’d made up his mind. 

“The truth,” Peter said, and he leaned in to kiss her. “After all, they all know.” He tugged his mask on, retrieved his web-shooters from the nightstand (he’d stuck them in there after Cheri had commented that wearing them around Benny might be a bit dangerous), and headed for the window. He looked back at Cheri as he pulled the web-shooters on, adjusting to the feel of them around his wrists again. 

“I really am sorry,” he said again, and Cheri’s shoulders rose and fell as she sighed, but then she waved her hand at him. 

“Go,” she said, quietly. “But come home safe, okay?” 

“I will,” Peter assured. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Cheri murmured, and Peter turned away from her, aiming one of the web-shooters at the closet building, and letting it pull him across the space to it. He stumbled a bit as he hit the wall, but recovered quickly enough, scaling the wall to get to the top of the building, as his suit’s systems booted up before his eyes. 

“Welcome back, Peter,” Karen greeted. “How are Benny and Cheri?” 

“Great, Karen, thanks,” Peter answered, reaching the roof and running across it to the opposite edge, so that he could start swinging his way towards the Sanctorum. “I need to get to the Sanctorum; Stephen said he needs my help.”

“Stephen Strange asked for help?” Karen asked. “Sounds serious.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Peter agreed, “and I’m not really looking forward to whatever it is.” 

He found that it was a little difficult to get into the motion of swinging between buildings, after not having needed to do it so often recently. He didn’t ever hit the ground, although he skimmed closer over the heads of some New Yorkers who were walking up and down sidewalks than he normally would have. He shouted down apologies to them as he went, unable to spare any time to do much more than that. By the time he’d gotten about ten blocks from the apartment, however, he thought that he’d adjusted, and was able to move with a bit more confidence and speed. 

It took ten minutes to get from the apartment to the Sanctorum, and Peter landed on the building across from it first, so that he could try to get a scope of what was happening, before actually jumping into it. He noted that Stephen had been correct about the windows of the third floor having been blown out, although he couldn’t see any glass, just the empty spaces where the windows would’ve been. 

Peter frowned to himself inside his mask. “Karen, can you do a thermal scan of the building for me?” he asked his AI, and his HUD shifted over to the appropriate color-scheme, indicating that she was doing as he’d asked. He spotted two different hotspots, indicating that there were two people inside the Sanctorum. Peter hoped that it was Stephen and Wong. 

“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. He shook out his limbs, and then sent a web across the street to the Sanctorum, flipping in through one of the busted third-story windows. He glanced around, once he was standing upright, wondering what in the world had happened. There was no glass anywhere, just grains of sand. Stephen must’ve resorted the glass back to its original state when whatever it was had blown out the windows, to avoid injury to anyone who’d been walking around beneath 177A Bleeker Street. 

Everything else that he could see looked to be relatively unharmed. There were a multitude of mystical objects littering the attic space. A suspiciously-glowing green orb floated in a glass container a few feet away from him, and Peter frowned at it, as well as the shrunken head resting on a pedestal near his elbow. 

He took a tentative step forward, leaving a footprint in the sand. “Strange?” he called, cautiously, keeping his senses pricked, just in case the two heat signatures hadn’t belonged to the two sorcerers he was acquainted with. 

He spun around at the faintest sound of a creak, coming from the stairs leading down out of the third floor, but relaxed when he saw it was only Stephen. 

“Hey,” the sorcerer greeted, and then waved his hand. “Follow me.” 

Peter did so, avoiding various other magical paraphernalia, moving down the stairs after Stephen two at a time. He noticed that Stephen was wearing his robes, as well as the Cloak of Levitation, which flew out behind him in a very dramatic fashion as Stephen led the way through the second floor to the main staircase. Peter tried to get a glimpse into a couple of the rooms they went past, but could see no destruction of any kind. He had to wonder what the crashing sound he’d heard when on the phone with Stephen earlier had been. 

“What’s going on?” he asked as they reached the first floor. “The windows are gone, but other than that, it doesn’t look like you had a big battle or anything.” 

“Oh, there was no battle,” Stephen said. “I used the windows to test my magic.” 

“To _test_ it?” Peter repeated, following him into the sitting room where he’d recovered after being drugged by Norman Osborn’s men, and having his suit stolen, several years prior. “Why would you need to do that? Is there something wrong with it?” 

Stephen turned to face him. “Yes,” he said, and Peter’s eyebrows rose behind his mask. “The magic is being drained from the universe. I’m going to ask you to help us stop that from happening.” 

Peter stared at him for a moment, struggling to come up with something to say. Finally, he put up his hands. “Okay,” he began. “Stephen, you - the magic is _being drained from the universe?_ What does that even mean?” 

Stephen ran a hand through his hair. Peter noticed that the streaks of gray at his temples seemed to have grown a bit further up on his head. “It means that an interdimensional being is absorbing it, no doubt to cause some sort of cataclysmic event that we won’t be able to stop because we won’t have access to the magic anymore.” 

“Cataclysmic -” Peter blinked at him. “Why are you even calling it magic? Usually, every time someone refers to it _as_ magic, you get really annoyed and go on your long spiel about how it isn’t magic, it’s “the essence of the universe that binds everything together,” like it’s the Force or something.”

Stephen frowned at him. “Would it help you understand things better if I were to refer to it as part of the _Star Wars_ franchise?” he questioned, blandly. 

Peter crossed his arms. “I didn’t have to come,” he said. “It’s Christmas. I could be at home with my wife and my kid.” 

Stephen blew out a breath, and reached up to scratch at his eyebrow. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a very… stressful few weeks. There aren’t many of us left, and Wong and I being the only ones here in the United States, it’s - we’ve been busy.” He looked at Peter again. “I do need your help, and this is serious. If we don’t stop this interdimensional being, Masters of the Mystic Arts all over the world will no longer be able to act as the first line of defense against other threats of the multiverse.” 

Peter stared at him for a moment longer, before he blew out a breath, and uncrossed his arms. “Okay,” he said. “What do you need?”

Stephen's shoulders fell, and he waved his hand in the air. Immediately, the sitting room was filled with various bubbles, each one holding what looked to Peter like a tiny world inside of them. He approached one, peering into it, frowning to himself as he took in the colony of tiny purple flea creatures that were marching around inside, between spiraling structures. 

“The multiverse exists in planes,” Stephen began. He waved his hand again, and the spheres started to cross into one another, moving slowly, passing through each other. “It’s incredibly normal for the planes to intersect, almost like tectonic plates on Earth. When they come together, beings from the planes intermingle. Usually, when this happens, the coexistence is peaceful; it’s very rare for two planes to have so much friction between their existences that conflict arises.” 

“But let me guess: Earth is the one plane that can’t manage to coexist with any of the others, and that’s why we get all of that crazy stuff going on, like tsunamis and earthquakes?” Peter guessed, although he was really only joking. He was a scientist, after all; he knew the reasoning behind those things.

So, he was very surprised when Stephen nodded. “The universal essence, magic, the Force, whatever you want to call it… when planes don’t manage to mingle peacefully, it can have an effect on the natural order of one plane or the other, usually the one that causes most of the conflict.”

He conjured up a separate sphere that held miniature versions of humans, and was dominated by skyscrapers and cars and planes. Peter watched as Stephen nudged it towards one of the other spheres, and actually flinched a little when the two collided, and the Earth sphere rattled so violently that the tiny skyscrapers tumbled down, the cars flipped over, and the planes crashed to the bottom of the sphere. It was a pretty clear indication that Earth had gotten the brunt end of the conflict between the intersection of the two. 

“Earth is one of those planes that is so… so singular, it very rarely manages to operate within the sphere of the multiverse, which is why sorcerers like Wong and I are so important,” Stephen went on, moving the Earth sphere away from the group again. “We manage to keep the delicate balance that keeps Earth from pissing off one too many planes, so that the planet isn’t forced into destruction by the bigger forces that rule the multiverse.” 

A golden glow appeared around the Earth sphere, and Stephen waved it over to the same one it had intersected before. This time, it shook, but not so roughly that the things inside of it were affected. It’s movement through the other sphere was a bit more jilted than the movement of the other spheres through one-another, but it at least happened without any destruction occurring inside either of them. 

Peter watched this happen, and then he looked at Stephen. “So… magic keeps it stable.”

“Yes,” Stephen said. “Thus, you understand why the fact that something is seeking to drain the magic from Earth is a dangerous thing.” 

Peter blew out a breath. “Okay,” he said, “so… what exactly do you want _me_ to do? I’m not a magic-user, and I… I kind of feel like another Avenger who has experience with aliens might be able to handle an interdimensional being a bit better than I can.” 

“We’re not asking you to fight it,” Stephen replied. “We merely want you to be the bait.” 

“The _bait?”_ Peter repeated. “How is that going to work?” 

“Wong and I believe that the being will take an interest in you and your powers,” Stephen said. “It’ll want to try to identify the magic that you’re using.”

“But I’m not magic.”

“Exactly,” Stephen agreed. “Which is why you won’t be in any real danger. Meanwhile, Wong and I will be waiting to capture it, when it comes after you.” 

“Okay, but… I’ll still be in _some_ danger, right? Because it’s a magical interdimensional being and I’m just some Earth guy?” Peter clarified, and Stephen offered him a nod, after a moment. 

“Technically, yes, you’ll… you’ll need to be careful, but if we do this correctly, you shouldn’t be face-to-face with it much longer than a few minutes while you draw it to us.” 

Peter let out a breath. Acting as bait for an interdimensional being while two wizards who were having trouble with their magic were waiting to capture said interdimensional being. Two wizards who were _having trouble with their magic._ That part of the equation did not sit well with Peter whatsoever, especially since he knew that he himself would be useless against the thing, what with his very non-magical self. He had no idea what he was going to do if Wong and Stephen didn’t manage to capture the being, but maybe he’d just have to cross that bridge when he got to it. 

He turned back to Stephen. “So, what?” he queried. “We’re bringing it here?” 

“We’re bringing it here,” Stephen agreed. “In fact, it’s on its way.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. “You enticed it without knowing I was going to agree to this?” 

“Well, no,” Stephen said. “I _knew_ you would agree.” 

Peter sighed, and hung his head. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Where am I going and what am I doing?”

**420 E. 51st. St., Manhattan, New York, NY, USA - 4:32 PM**

“So, wait, you… you _chased_ the interdimensional demon thing?” Harry asked, adjusting the grip he had on Benny as he gaped at Peter. 

“Not a demon,” Stephen put in helpfully from where he sat at the dining table, a half-finished plate of food in front of him. 

“Yeah, I had to,” Peter said, to answer Harry’s question. He set his plate, which had held one of the brownies that Cheri had baked, down onto the coffee table, and stretched his arms up over his head. “It ran away from me, and I needed to get it to where Stephen and Wong were waiting.” 

“Did it explode?” Ned questioned, excitedly, looking between Stephen and Peter. 

“Not exactly,” Stephen replied. He pushed his plate away from him, and rested his arms on the table top with a sigh. Tony, who was seated beside him, reached over and began to massage the back of his neck with one hand. Stephen's eyes drifted closed. 

“But you said it turned into a million little pieces and then disappeared,” Ned pointed out. “That sounds like it exploded to me.” 

“Ned, they probably don’t want to talk about it,” Isabel suggested. She was leaning against the wall that marked the hallway, arms crossed. Abuela had headed into Peter and Cheri’s room for a quick nap about twenty minutes ago, and she was waiting to go in to wake her, so they could head back to her apartment in Brooklyn. 

“But - but how could it turn into a million pieces _unless_ it exploded?” Ned persisted, looking mostly towards Peter for an answer, now. 

“I don’t know, Ned,” he told his friend. He was watching Cheri, who stood in the kitchen at the sink, doing dishes. She hadn’t looked at him much, since he and Stephen had gotten to the apartment after their romp through lower Manhattan after the interdimensional being. It hadn’t been as big of a deal as Peter had thought it would be; in fact, dealing with it had been rather easy, once he’d actually managed to get it where it needed to be. One glimpse of his web, and the thing had taken off. Peter had been forced to corral it to the correct location, where Stephen and Wong had immediately taken it out with some sort of dual-power magic spell. Peter didn’t really know how it had worked. 

He could only assume that Cheri was probably a bit upset with him. He didn’t blame her, but he wished that she would at least _look_ at him, instead of ignoring the fact that he had come home, unscathed, and within two hours of when he had left. 

“Poop! Poop! There’s _poop!”_ Harry’s exclamation pulled Peter out of his reverie, and he saw that Harry was holding Benny an arm’s length away from his body, still managing to cradle his head in the way he was supposed to. He was looking frantically at everyone, however, begging with his eyes for someone to take the baby from him. “The infant has defecated!” 

May, with an exasperated eye roll, moved to take Benny, but Peter beat her to it, carefully retrieving his son from Harry’s hands and heading for the nursery. 

“He over exaggerates, doesn’t he?” Isabel murmured to him as he passed her, and Peter merely snorted in response, earning a smile from her. 

Once in the nursery, he placed Benny down on the changing table. His son waved his arms, his expression screwed up into one of discomfort, which was usually the first indication that he had pooped. Peter smiled down at him, amused, as he wiped his hands off with a sanitizing wipe. 

“Are you stinky?” he asked, lightly, unbuttoning the bottom of Benny’s onesie, and shifting it up over his stomach so that he could access his diaper. His nose twitched as he undid the diaper, and he turned his head away, breathing out through his mouth. “Woof, yeah, you’re _big_ stinky.” 

He deposited the diaper into the trashcan beneath the table, and then reached for another wipe. He heard movement down the hall, and glanced over his shoulder in the middle of cleaning off the baby’s butt to see Cheri poking her head into the room. 

“Code Brown?” she asked. 

“Yep.” Peter turned his attention back to Benny, making sure he’d properly cleaned his rear of all signs of the mess. He dropped the wipes he’d used into the can as well, and then reached for a new diaper. Cheri had joined him at the changing table, however, and was holding one out to him. 

“Thanks,” he said, setting it down and gently lifting Benny’s lower end so that he could slide it beneath him. The baby released the same frustrated sound he always did whenever he was being changed, clearly bothered by the whole process. Peter didn’t really blame him; being manhandled so that your ass could get clean had to be fairly annoying. 

Once he’d secured the diaper, he redid the buttons on the onesie, and then lifted Benny from the table, cradling him to his shoulder. Benny whined, his tiny fist whacking into the side of Peter’s head. 

“I know, you’re so sleepy,” Peter soothed, moving around Cheri to get to the rocking chair. He sat down on it, lowering Benny into the cradle of his arms instead. The baby looked positively exhausted, no doubt because of his activity-filled afternoon, and being passed between so many people. Peter glanced up at Cheri. “He had his bottle, right?” 

“Yeah,” Cheri said, “right before you got home.” She crossed her arms, shifting her weight between her feet. “It’s almost like he didn’t want to fall asleep until you got back.” 

Peter hummed quietly in acknowledgement of this, and looked back down at their son. “It’s all right,” he murmured, running his thumb gently down Benny’s nose, which they’d discovered helped calm the infant down when he got fussy. Indeed, after a few moments, Benny fell quiet, and his eyelids drooped with the movement of Peter’s thumb, until they’d closed entirely. 

Peter returned his gaze to Cheri, who was watching Benny, rather than him. “I’m sorry,” she said, all the same. 

“For what?” Peter asked. “Being upset that I left to do something on Christmas?” 

“For being upset that you left to do something Spider-Man related on Christmas,” Cheri amended. 

Peter rose from the rocking chair, and placed Benny down in his crib. He checked the baby monitor’s status, and then turned to his wife. After a moment of studying her, he reached out and pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, softly, so as not to disturb their son. “You’re allowed to be upset about it.” 

“I know,” she sighed, resting her hands on his chest. “I just feel bad, because obviously it was important. Stephen was involved, for God’s sake.” She met his gaze. “I just wish that it wasn’t so… abrupt, and unexpected, when you have to go.” 

Peter offered her a small smile. “Bad guys don’t necessarily plan around holidays,” he joked. “Especially not interdimensional not-demons.” 

Thankfully, Cheri returned his smile, although hers didn’t exactly reach her eyes. Peter leaned down until he could rest his forehead against hers, and Cheri’s eyes closed as her hand cupped the back of his neck. 

“It’s hard,” he whispered. “I know it is, and I’m sorry for that. But it’s just something that we have to deal with, with me being Spider-Man _and_ a dad and husband.” 

Cheri was quiet for a long moment. When she did speak, it was to present him with a question that Peter had hoped to never have to come face-to-face with. 

“Do you ever think about just being one or the other?” 

Peter’s own eyes fell shut, and he swallowed. He’d known that someone was going to ask it of him, someday, but he hadn’t really expected it to be Cheri. He knew that she supported his decision to try and balance Spider-Man work with his personal life as Peter Parker, but as the person closest to him, and thus jointly dealing with the results the same as he did, he really shouldn’t have been surprised that the idea of him electing to _just_ be Spider-Man or _just_ be Peter Parker had been on her mind. 

“I can’t really make that sort of decision, Cher,” he said, quietly. “You know that I can’t. It would be like choosing between two halves of myself.” 

“I know,” Cheri mumbled, “and you know I’d never really want to ask you to do that, but… I don’t know, Pete. I just don’t ever want there to be a circumstance where you’re… not here, and I _need_ you to be.” 

He’d considered that, too. When she’d still been pregnant, one of his biggest concerns had been about not being at home some nights, in case she needed him for something. Thankfully, that sort of scenario had never actually occurred, but it had worried him. 

It was _still_ concerning. Benny was still barely more than a newborn, and anything at all could happen while Peter was out swinging around the city. He had no way of knowing if his wife and son would be all right at home without him, not for sure. Cheri was extremely capable, and the amount of people they had in their lives that would go to her aid if necessary was insurmountable, but that didn’t excuse the fact that, realistically, Peter should be the one in charge of making sure that she and Benny were okay. 

He exhaled, and reached up to take her wrists in his hands. Cheri opened her eyes and met his, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m always going to come right home if you need me to,” he told her. 

“Are you?” she returned, and Peter squeezed her wrists, gently, before lowering his hands again. Cheri dropped her own from his chest, and turned, heading out of the nursery. Peter glanced back at Benny a final time before following her. 

They returned to the front room, finding that Abuela had been woken, and it seemed she and Isabel were getting ready to leave. Cheri moved in to kiss her mother and grandmother, who then reached out to take Peter’s hand. 

“Thank you, Peter,” she said. 

“You’re welcome any time,” he reminded her. 

“Not for having us over,” Abuela said. She tilted her head in Cheri’s direction, and Peter realized what she meant. He dipped his head, and Abuela smiled at him, reaching up to cup his cheek for a moment. 

“Máma,” Isabel said, from where she stood with Cheri by the front door. Abuela rolled her eyes at Peter, who grinned, and walked with her over to the door. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled, allowing Cheri to help her with her coat. _“Dios mio.”_

“Sorry, sorry,” Isabel responded, smiling a bit. “I just want to get out of the city before it starts to snow.” 

“Ah, I know,” Abuela replied, kissing Cheri’s cheek one final time. “Take good care of that baby.” 

“We will,” Cheri assured, stepping back to Peter’s side, although she wouldn’t let him put his arm around her. 

_“Adios,”_ Abuela said, directing it to the whole room. 

_“Feliz Navidad, Abuela!”_ Ned and Harry chorused back. Isabel held the door open for Abuela, who shuffled out into the hall, and Isabel followed after bidding everyone farewell. When the door had closed behind them, Tony popped up from behind the peninsula counter. 

“Who wants alcoholic eggnog?” he said brightly, placing a bottle on the counter. 

“Where did you get that?” Stephen asked him, frowning. 

“The store, honey, obviously,” Tony returned, opening one of the cabinets and beginning to pull out glasses. “Cheri, you’re the host, you gotta make a toast.”

“No thanks,” Cheri answered, moving away from Peter again. “Not in an eggnog mood.” 

“It’s Christmas, you have to be,” Tony insisted. “Ned?” 

“Ah… maybe just a little,” Ned said, walking over to the counter. 

“That’s my guy,” Tony encouraged. “Harry, Pete?” 

Peter shook his head, his attention on Cheri, who had crossed the room and stepped out onto their apartment’s balcony, closing the sliding door leading out to it from the living room behind her. Harry stepped up beside him, head cocked to one side. 

“What’s that about?” he asked quietly. 

“She’s…” Peter sighed, and then gave a one-word explanation instead: “Spider-Man.” 

“Ah.” Harry slid his hands into his pockets. “Can’t help with that.” 

“I know,” Peter said. “I just - I need to figure out the right thing to say.” He frowned a little. “She shouldn’t be standing out there, it’s freezing.” 

“There you go,” Harry told him. When Peter glanced at him, Harry raised his shoulders. “Seems like a good opening line to me.” 

Peter turned back towards the balcony, and then started towards it. He opened the door, and stepped outside, closing it behind him. Cheri glanced over her shoulder, then turned back towards the view, her arms crossed over her chest. Peter walked up behind her and, after hesitating for a moment, slid his arms around her, to share his body heat. He was relieved when Cheri didn’t pull away. 

“Come back inside,” he murmured. “It’s cold.” 

“But you’re here, so I’ll be all right,” she responded, leaning back into him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching as various lights began to turn on across their view. Soon enough, the entire scene before them glowed against the darkening December sky, golden light shining through the steadily falling snow. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Cheri finally said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter assured. 

“I’m mad about… about the circumstances, I guess,” Cheri continued. “Maybe irrationally, since I know I can’t ask you to do anything to change them -”

“That isn’t it,” Peter said, quietly. He pressed his face against the top of her head for a moment, to process his thoughts before speaking them. “It - I _could_ change things, I know that. I just - I _can’t,_ because of precedent.” He lifted his head again. “Does that make sense?” 

“Yes,” Cheri sighed. She rubbed his forearm comfortingly. “I get it, Queens, I promise.” She turned in his arms, and placed hers around his neck, leaning up on her toes to kiss him. Peter, relieved by the contact, which was too sweet to be forced, leaned into the kiss, tightening his hold around her waist. 

She pulled back after a moment, but stayed up on her toes, so that their foreheads were touching. 

_“Mi amor,”_ she whispered, her breath warm over his face. “I know you would do anything for me and Benny. I just have a hard time remembering that you would also do anything for the people of New York.” 

Peter squeezed her waist, suddenly desperate to reassure her of his priorities. “Cher, you and Benny are _always_ going to come first,” he said, fiercely. “I promise. Please tell me that you know I mean it.” 

She lifted her hands and cupped his cheeks. Her palms were surprisingly warm. “Yes,” she insisted. “Of course I know that you mean it. But I can’t let you ignore the fact that you might not always be there, not when you’re busy looking after the city, too, _querido.”_

Peter tried to kiss her again, but Cheri placed a finger against his lips. “Queens, look at me,” she said, voice soft but firm. 

Peter did so, if unwillingly, and Cheri moved her hands around to the back of his neck, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape. 

“I love you, so much,” she said, “but I get the feeling that you don’t want to recognize that being Spider-Man means you’re going to have to make sacrifices when it comes to me and Benny. And that’s fine. But I need you to admit it to yourself, or we’re going to have so many unnecessary fights later on.” 

Peter furrowed his brow. He knew that electing to keep doing work as Spider-Man was going to take up his time, but he couldn’t simply agree to the fact that it would also mean occasionally putting his family second. He refused to accept that. 

Cheri must have seen this resolve in his expression, because she squeezed the back of his neck. “At least admit that you’re only one man,” she urged. “Please, Peter.” 

That seemed a little less taxing. Peter exhaled, forcing his shoulders to relax, and he met her gaze. “I’m only one man,” he said, softly, “but I’ve got this, Cher. Don’t doubt me.” 

“I don’t,” she replied. “I just don’t want you to wear yourself out when it can be avoided.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said. He tilted his head to kiss her, and Cheri allowed him to, this time. When he pulled back, he kissed her forehead as well, and then moved his hands upwards so that he could take hers. 

“Let’s go back inside,” he suggested. “We don’t want Ned to get drunk on eggnog.” 

“Harry wouldn’t let him,” Cheri said, quietly, but Peter was relieved when she allowed him to pull her through the sliding door and back into their apartment. 

Peter knew that she wasn’t completely satisfied with the results of their conversation. He didn’t know what else he could do to show her that he’d meant what he said aside from prove it through his actions. Starting with the New Year, he’d go back to Spider-Man duties, as well as school, as well as being a dad and husband, and he’d show his wife that he had everything under control. 

It would be fine. They would be fine. 

“Peter Parker, you are going to show me this purported video of my grandson rapping immediately!” Tony exclaimed, drawing Peter’s attention to the present. 

Peter grinned, and reached for his phone, looking over at Cheri. “See? Told you.” 

Cheri merely shook her head, but Peter saw that she was smiling, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me only writing major holidays from now on to jump forward in time as much as I can!  
> Also catch me hinting at an epic a'f boss battle between the wizards of New York City, Spider-Man and some interdimensional creature thing that I only got the vaguest notion of through the five pages of Doctor Strange comics I read to try and write Stephen better.  
> ALSO catch me loving Harry a li'l bit more every chapter!!!


	13. February 22nd, 2027

**February 22nd, 2027 - FEAST Center, New York, NY, USA - 1:24 PM**

“Thank you, Spider-Man.”

Peter offered the young woman he'd just saved from an assault a two-fingered salute, and watched as she turned and ducked into the FEAST Center. She passed May on the way in, who was just coming out. She held the door open for her, and then walked over to Peter. He flipped down off of the streetlamp he’d been sitting on to join her on the sidewalk. 

“Hey,” he greeted. “How’re you doing over here?” 

“Fine,” May answered, and she gestured over her shoulder. “Who was that?” 

Peter shrugged. “Somebody who needed help,” he said. 

“Hm.” His aunt reached into the oversized pocket on the hoodie she wore, and withdrew a stack of folded paper and envelopes. She handed it to him. “There you go.” 

“Thanks,” Peter said, flipping through the mail. A while back, May had suggested that, in order to get a bit more attention towards the FEAST Center, it could act as an outreach for the people of New York towards Spider-Man. Peter had agreed, mostly because he thought being able to be in communication with people would keep news outlets and such from releasing false information about the things he was doing around the city. 

So far, the program had been going well, but of course there were always some angry letters thrown into the mix that May handed to him every week when he dropped by to visit. He pulled one from the stack, looking over the red pen that the letter had been scribbled in, usually a sure sign of an angry citizen, and let his shoulders drop. 

“There aren’t very many this week,” May said, obviously sensing his despair. “I still could -”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No, I - I appreciate the offer, May, but I need to read everything everyone has to say. I want to know what I can do better.” 

May had been trying to convince him to let her pull out the more awful letters since the program had begun. Peter had rejected this suggestion every time she brought it up. Even if the words were harmful, made him feel like a failure, he felt like he learned from them, too, and worked to do better the next time. 

Cheri and May both felt the same about it. They insisted that he could do better without having to read some of the worse letters, the ones that told him to kill himself especially, but Peter needed to know what people had problems with. He wanted to improve his work as Spider-Man, or he saw no point in doing the work at all. 

He held up the stack. “Thanks again. When are you going to come by?” 

“This weekend, hopefully,” May answered. “The picture Cheri sent yesterday was adorable.” 

Peter smiled to himself, remembering said picture, which had featured a three-month-old Benny with a goofy grin, dressed in a pair of overalls. The baby was growing so quickly, he couldn’t believe it. 

“He’s going to be four months in just a couple weeks,” he said, and May shook her head. 

“Crazy how fast it’s gone by.” She considered him. “You’re doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” Peter said. When May cocked her head to the side, he exhaled. _“Yes._ I’m fine, May. Really.” 

“How’s your research going?” she prompted. 

Peter hesitated. He’d begun his doctorate program in the fall, and had finally broken into his research stage for drafting his dissertation. The research was worse than the writing, he’d quickly realized, despite the fact that he was very interested in his topic. Presently, he was still searching for several amputee volunteers to interview and observe in their daily lives, to try and understand how one of his brain-operated prosthetics would work better for them than what they currently had. Thus far, he hadn’t had anyone agree to be part of his study. 

All the same, he didn’t want May to worry about it, so he said, “It’s good. I’m - I can definitely do something with what I’ve seen so far.” 

He knew right away that she didn’t believe him. Thankfully, though, his aunt knew when he was lying for a reason, and so she didn’t press the topic. Instead, she sighed, and slid her hands into her hoodie’s pocket. 

“Please take care of yourself,” she said, quietly. “You’re stressing me out, and you’re stressing Tony out, _and_ you’re stressing Cheri out, even if she won’t say it out loud.” She looked at him, and somehow she was able to meet his gaze despite the fact that he was wearing his mask. “We don’t want you getting burnt out. If you need help, ask for it.” 

“I’m fine, May,” Peter told her. An alert flashed on his HUD for a report that had just come in about a robbery taking place. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” May sighed, and Peter aimed a web shooter towards a nearby building, heading for the robbery. 

**420 E. 51st. St., New York, NY, USA - 5:21 PM**

Several hours later, Cheri sat with Peter at their dining room table. Benny played with a toy in his bassinet nearby, cooing happily. His father, however, Cheri noticed, was possibly the furthest thing from happy, as he read through the letters he’d picked up earlier on in the day from the FEAST Center. The ones that Cheri had read so far had been mostly positive, including many grateful notices and reminders of what Spider-Man had done for the writers.

Apparently, Peter had received the brunt of the negative letters. 

“Listen to this,” Peter said, and he held up a particularly scalding letter. He read from it: _“'Where was Spider-Man when my apartment was broken into six months ago? I’m just a college student. I thought Spider-Man was around to help normal people, like me! Some fucking superhero.'"_

Cheri reached over and placed her hand on his. “At least they’re not all bad,” she said, gently, and Peter shook his head. 

“This was supposed to help public opinion,” he said. “Like, let me get in touch with some of the people I’ve helped, or who just want to talk to me, so that they don’t take their shit to the media instead.” He set the letter down, and placed his head in his hands. “I want to be better, Cher, but it - I don’t know how I can do more. I get to the crimes that are reported, and I stop them as best I can, but I always end up missing _somebody.”_

“Then maybe we should shut it down,” Cheri said. “It seems like it’s only making you more stressed about everything. The letters aren’t doing what we wanted them to.”

“I think _I’m_ not doing what people want me to do,” Peter amended tiredly. “I’m not working hard enough for them.”

“Peter, you’re in the middle of getting your doctorate,” she reminded him. “Plus you’re working, _and_ you’re trying to be here for Benny -”

 _“They_ don’t know any of that,” Peter said, quietly, gesturing to the array of negative letters, “and there’s no way for me to tell them.” 

“You can’t blame yourself because the public sees Spider-Man as separate from themselves,” Cheri said. “They think he’s a special guy, that his whole world revolves around protecting New York. I think they’ve put him in a completely different sphere, and can’t imagine that he’s exactly the same as them, that he has a life outside of being a superhero.” 

Peter sighed, and lifted his head again. Cheri took his hand in hers. “Maybe it’s time that Spider-Man admitted to himself that he’s just as human as all the people he protects,” she suggested. 

“But I can’t,” Peter said, softly, _“_ _because_ I have all those people to protect.” Cheri’s brow furrowed, and Peter squeezed her hand. “It’s all right. I’ve figured this sort of thing out before.”

“On your own,” Cheri said, and he nodded. “You don’t need to do that anymore, Pete.”

He smiled a little, and leaned across the table to kiss her. “I appreciate that,” he said, “but… it’s always going to just be me, when it comes to Spider-Man.”

He let go of her hand and scooped up the mail, walking out of the front room. He noticeably did not throw out the hateful letters.

Cheri watched him go, before she exhaled, and looked down at the table, wishing she could do something to help him feel better about it all. 

She was brought back to the present when Benny began to fuss, after the toy he’d been amusing himself with landed on the floor beside his bassinet. Cheri glanced up again, and smiled to herself, before standing and heading over to the cradle. Her son cooed, when he recognized her. All of the baby books said he was able to do that, now, recognize familiar faces. She thought he’d been able to do that from the minute he was born. 

She leaned down and scooped him up, murmuring softly to him as she cradled him to her shoulder, bouncing him a little. “I bet you’re hungry,” she said, glancing at the time. She went to the fridge to retrieve the prepared bottle of formula, so that she could set it in the bottle warmer. 

Even if he was hungry, Benny had shown that he was not a crier. He squirmed a little, indicative of wanting something, but he never cried, aside from when he woke up in the middle of the night and knew that would be the only way of getting attention. Cheri appreciated it, but she imagined that when she and Peter had their next child, the same rule was unlikely to apply. Her mother had said that Cheri had been a constant crier. 

She paused, and rewound her thoughts. Their _next_ child? Christ, they’d only just had Benny a little over four months ago. The _next_ child? As if. 

She shook her head to herself as the warmer beeped, and she retrieved the bottle again. She settled back down at the table so that she could feed the baby. Benny’s eyes narrowed in contentment as he hungrily sucked down formula. Cheri smiled to herself, watching him, and then glanced up when she heard movement from the entryway of the hall. 

Peter had returned. Did he look guilty? Why? Because he hadn’t accepted the help she’d tried to offer him? She couldn’t force him to do so, and she knew that he’d always been very independent about his superhero thing, especially the public viewpoint of Spider-Man. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep it that way, even when he was dealing with harsh criticism. 

Her husband walked back over to the table, and sat down again. He watched Benny for a moment, the corner of his mouth raised in a small smile, before he lifted his gaze to meet hers. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. 

Cheri mirrored his smile, and used one hand to reach across the table towards him. Peter took it in his own, and she squeezed his, gently. 

“Don’t be,” she said. “Just know that I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.” 

Peter nodded, grateful, and Cheri looked down at their son again. Even though he had her eyes and curly dark brown hair, it had become painfully clear that the kid had in fact inherited Peter’s ears. She could only hope that he grew into them. Even if she found the larger-than-average ears adorable, she wasn’t sure anyone else would feel the same. 

“You’re looking at his ears again, aren’t you?” Peter asked, sounding exasperated, and Cheri looked up at him, brows together. 

“Sorry,” she said, “but it - they’re very noticeable.”

Peter let out a sigh. “Believe me, I know,” he said, dryly. He leaned back in his chair. “May said she wants to come by this weekend.”

“I know, she mentioned it to me,” Cheri replied, tugging the bottle away from Benny before he could start swallowing air. Peter handed her the burp rag near his hand when she gestured for it, and Cheri draped it over her shoulder before she lifted Benny and began to pat his back. “She also offered to watch him again for us.” 

She watched Peter exhale, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “It’s nice of her,” he said, “but I - I just don’t have time, Cher, I’m sorry.”

The two of them had not been able to celebrate their second anniversary to the same extent they had their first. One reason was because of Benny, although May and Isabel had both offered to watch the baby to give Cheri and Peter some alone time. Cheri would happily take advantage of it, but Peter had been incredibly busy lately, with Spider-Man and his doctorate, as well as the few hours he was putting in at Stark Industries each day. Tony had suggested he step back from that, but Peter had refused, saying that they needed to supplement their income somehow. 

He wasn’t wrong, not really. Cheri hadn’t gone back to work in fall, knowing that she would just have to stop working again once Benny was born, but they’d had some money put away from the work Peter had done over summer. They would’ve been fine until she could go back to work at the start of the 2027-2028 school year. 

Peter worried, though. She didn’t blame him for worrying, and wanting to make sure they had enough money for sure, but she had to wonder if he was doing more damage by taking on so much. She would have preferred to be back at work herself, and Peter be the one to stay home with Benny during the day, but with Spider-Man…

She sighed, and although she hadn’t meant to do so out loud, Peter apparently heard it, because he looked at her, a crease between his brow. Before he could say anything, however, Benny burped, thankfully, and Cheri was able to turn her attention to him instead. 

_“¡Muy bueno, mi amor!”_ she praised, pulling Benny away from her shoulder. He kicked his feet cheerfully, smiling, and Cheri leaned in to kiss his cheek. _“Muy bueno.”_

“Cheri -”

 _“Benito, te amo, Benito. Mi precioso bebé,”_ she sang, rising from her chair and walking down the hall to the nursery, so that she wouldn’t have to actually have a conversation with Peter. She walked into Benny’s room, humming, and settled down into the rocking chair. It was a bit early to try and get him to lay down, but she hadn’t started dinner yet, and preferred for him to be in the crib while she was cooking. She knew that Peter had followed her into the nursery, and was waiting in the doorway, but she didn’t look at him, instead keeping her focus on their son. 

Unfortunately, the fact that Benny was so good about falling asleep fairly quickly was an issue for her, for the first time. She really did not want to have to talk to Peter about the topic of their anniversary, because it would just open the door to a larger argument about the way he’d been dividing his attention. She was tired of hearing the same thing from him, over and over again: “I’ve got it under control.” That might have been true, but it seemed to her that Peter didn’t grasp what should have been painfully obvious: the fact that Cheri was feeling a bit neglected, and wished he had more time for her. 

Benny was asleep in his crib within minutes, and Cheri lingered next to it for as long as she could, looking down at the baby and wondering how much he could understand about his parents’ relationship. She hoped it wasn’t much. 

“Cher, can we talk?” Peter asked from behind her. “Please?” 

Cheri closed her eyes for a moment, before she exhaled, and stepped away from the crib. Peter moved out of her way, and then followed her down the hall and out into the front room of the apartment. She walked around the peninsula counter, and went to open the fridge to pull out the ground beef she’d defrosted. Peter lingered on the other side of the counter, standing between the two bar stools, hands braced against the top of it. Griffin, who'd been dozing on top of the counter, peered at him through one narrowed eye, before relaxing again. 

“Say what you want to say,” Peter invited, after maybe thirty seconds of silence. 

Cheri pursed her lips, and set down the frying pan she’d pulled out as gently as she could, reaching to turn on the burner. 

“I don’t have anything to say,” she told him. “Do _you?”_

She could feel Peter’s gaze on her. “No,” he said. 

“Then why did you ask if we could talk?” Cheri queried, dumping the ground beef into the pan. 

Peter let out a breath, and Cheri waited. After a moment, he said, “You’re pissed we didn’t get an anniversary, I know that. But Cher, I told you that I have so many other things to think about that -”

“That you can’t make time for your wife, even though you promised me two months ago that Benny and I are your first priority?” Cheri interrupted. The sudden anger in her voice must have startled Griffin, because the cat’s head snapped in her direction, before he jumped down off the counter and out of sight down the hall. Cheri regretted her confrontational tone, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Peter had asked to talk, so she was going to talk. 

Peter said nothing for a while after that, long enough for Cheri to fry the ground beef with the taco seasoning she’d learned to make from Abuela. When it had browned, she turned the heat down, and pulled out the tinfoil. She made a cup out of it to stick into the sink’s drain, and then dumped the grease from the frying pan. Setting the pan back down, she retrieved the tinfoil from the sink, and dropped it into the garbage, which forced her to turn and look at Peter. Griffin had come back, and jumped onto the counter again, purring loudly to try and get his attention, but Peter was looking at her. 

“You haven’t said anything,” he murmured, and Cheri let out a tiny scoff. 

“I shouldn’t have to, Peter,” she informed him, turning back to the stove. She gave the ground beef a final stir, and then set her spatula down again, before walking over to the fridge to pull out the lettuce and tomatoes she had prepared earlier. She set them down on the counter, next to the tortillas, before grabbing the shredded cheese from the fridge and doing the same with it. She then faced Peter again, crossing her arms. 

“When you said we were your first priority, I figured that meant you were going to be giving us most of your attention. Since New Year’s, though, you’ve been focusing less and less on us, and more and more on Spider-Man, work, and school.” 

“I -”

“I know, it’s all important, I get it,” Cheri said. “Which is exactly what I told you the last time we talked about this. I also asked you to admit to yourself that making sacrifices when it came to Benny and I in order to focus on all those other things was going to be necessary, and you basically refused to do that.” 

“I admitted that I’m one man -”

“So be the man who focuses on his family!” Cheri exclaimed. “I asked you to be the one to stay home with Benny, so that I could go back to work, and we agreed that that didn’t work because you wanted to dedicate time to Spider-Man. That was fine, I was okay with that, because you _also_ had your doctorate to worry about, and I knew all three things were going to be too much for you. 

“But when you decide to go back to _work_ on top of Spider-Man and school, that’s when I start having a problem with where your attention is going. You don’t need to be working, Peter. We have money saved away, we _agreed_ before Benny was born that you wouldn’t have to work, so that you could do your doctorate program instead. The energy and attention you’re putting into work at S.I. should be _here_ , with me and with our son, so that I don’t want to strangle you every time you go out as Spider-Man as soon as you get home, because you’ll already have been here!” 

Near her elbow, the baby monitor came to life with Benny’s fussing, and then, after a moment, his cries. Cheri let out a slow breath, willing the heat in her cheeks to fade, and she fixed Peter with a glower. 

“Your son needs you,” she said, stiffly, and turned to the stove again. 

It took a moment, but eventually she heard Peter walk back to the nursery. She closed her eyes, hating the burn of angry tears that she could feel building there. She suddenly found that she had no desire to eat, and so she left the food as it was, and left the kitchen, moving past the dining table and sinking down onto one of the couches in the living room. 

Maybe ten minutes later, Peter returned from the nursery. He must have put Benny back down, because the baby was not with him. He glanced towards where she sat, and then into the kitchen at the untouched food, before clearly making up his mind and walking over to join her in the living room instead. He sat down next to her on the couch, although he didn’t relax. Vindictively, Cheri felt a little pleased by this fact. 

After a long moment, Peter spoke: “I’m sorry.” Cheri did not look at him, and he continued, “I should’ve - I should’ve realized that you’d… you’d be upset with me for deciding to go back to work, too. I just - I figured that I might as well, since I had time, but… but I should’ve known that it would bother you, considering what we decided earlier about you staying here with Benny so that I could do school and Spider-Man. It was selfish of me to add a third thing onto that instead of electing to… to give the free time I had to the two of you instead.” 

Cheri hummed, quietly, and Peter bowed his head. “I want to do better,” he said, his voice lower, now, “but I just - I want to make sure we’re taken care of, too. That you and Benny are taken care of.” 

Cheri turned towards him in alarm when she heard his voice crack, and realized that he had started to cry. Horrified, she moved down the couch towards him. 

“Pete, I -”

He shook his head, wiping at his eyes, inhaling. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “This is silly.”

Cheri blinked at him. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad,” she said, “although I should’ve realized pretty quickly that that was exactly what I was going to do.” She reached out, and gingerly rested her hand on his shoulder. “I just needed you to know that what you’re doing isn’t working, not for us.” 

Peter sniffled, and Cheri shifted back against the couch when he moved to lean into her, coaxing him to lay down so that his head was in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. 

Finally, however, Peter drew in a breath. “I’ll tell Mr. Stark that I need to stop working again next week,” he whispered. He turned his head, so that he could look up at her. “Maybe next weekend we can have May watch Benny?” 

Cheri managed a smile, and leaned down to kiss him. “Only if you want,” she murmured against his lips. “Although I haven’t had a chance to give you your anniversary present yet.” 

“I would like my anniversary present,” Peter conceded with a small grin of his own. He surged upwards to kiss her more deeply, and, between pressing his lips to hers, said, “I think - you’ll like yours - too.”

Cheri sighed against his mouth. “I’m sure I will,” she breathed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I give up on trying to find song lyrics to go along with each new chapter.   
> It shouldn't be a challenge, considering how many songs exist, but... somehow, it's difficult.


	14. May Days (2027)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days in May, including a very brief snippet of May 25th, 2027, as well as guest appearances by Ned Leeds, Harry Osborn, and Tony Stark.

**May 17th, 2027 - 71 2nd Ave., New York, NY, USA - 12:32 PM**

“I can’t believe he’s crawling already,” Ned said, watching as Benny scooted himself across the floor behind his and Harry’s couch. Peter leaned against the couch beside him, smiling a bit. 

“Dr. Kramer said it’s rare, but not unheard of,” he explained to his friend. “Apparently, some babies can start crawling even  _ before _ they’re six months.” 

“It’s nuts,” Ned insisted, and then he glanced at Peter. “How’re you doing?” 

Peter let out a breath. After what had happened in February, he’d been actively making it a choice to spend more time at home. Tony hadn’t been surprised when he’d said he needed to stop working, and had instead said the same thing he always did, when Peter went to him about it: “We’re here if you want to come back.” 

Instead of working, Peter had been able to turn his focus to his research and his family, while still dedicating time to Spider-Man whenever he could. He’d finally found a collection of people to include in his work, and he and Cheri were a lot happier. Benny, too, seemed to feel the effect of the change, considering how well he was developing. 

So, when he said, “I’m great,” in response to Ned’s question, he meant it one-hundred percent.

Ned seemed pleased. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad.” He shifted his weight. “Cheri’s okay?” 

Peter nodded.  _ “We’re _ okay, too, which is important.”

“Right.” Ned gestured to Benny, who had rolled himself onto his back and was kicking at nothing, cooing happily as he did so. “He seems to get it, too.” 

Peter laughed, and went to retrieve his son, picking him up off the floor. Benny babbled at him, and Peter nodded knowingly. 

“Right, I hear you,” he agreed, carrying Benny over to Ned. “Here, Uncle Ned, why don’t you feed him this time?” 

“Ah, Uncle Ned has work to do,” Ned said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts so that he wouldn’t have to take the six-month-old. “Sorry, Dad.” 

“Aw, but Benny  _ wants _ his Uncle Ned to feed him,” Peter said, sticking out his lower lip in a mock pout. “Right, Benny?”

Benny reached out towards Ned, opening and closing his hands, and Peter saw Ned’s resolve crumble like a wooden house in a fire. 

“All right, all right, give me the kid,” he relented, holding out his arms. Peter plopped Benny into them, and Ned turned, walking towards the kitchen. “You really got some dangerous persuasion skills, baby. You learn that from Pops?” Benny cooed an affirmative. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Peter grinned, and leaned back against the couch again with a small sigh. ‘Pops’ was Tony, who’d agreed to ‘Poppy’ after doing vigorous research into various names for grandchildren to call their grandfathers. May, who spent the most time with Benny, had been granted the moniker ‘Meems,’ while Isabel was currently ‘Nana,’ which she was trying to get revoked, stating it made her sound too old, but which Cheri was pressing with a vehemence that Peter knew couldn’t be cracked. 

Of course, Benny could not say any of these names, not yet anyway, although he’d gotten much better at making sounds that were fairly indicative of them. Mostly, however, whenever he wanted attention from someone specific, he would simply stare straight at them and squeal until they would give it. Peter had to admit that it was a pretty effective method. 

He heard Ned moving around in the kitchen, talking to Benny all the while. Very recently, Benny had started to consume “real food,” which usually included purees of various fruits and vegetables. Ned and Harry, as well as anyone who even occasionally had Benny over, had an assortment of baby foods stocked away for situations in which the child required nutrients while he was with them. 

“How about rice and squash?” Peter heard Ned ask Benny. 

Peter wrinkled his nose at the prospect, and moved around the couch so that he could sit down. He’d brought Benny over to see Ned mostly because Cheri had elected to go up to Washington Heights to visit Abuela. She’d offered to take Benny with her, but they’d decided together that it probably wasn’t the best choice. Instead, the baby was with Peter, and thus, his Uncle Ned. And eventually his Uncle Harry, whenever he got home. 

“Where  _ is _ Harry?” Peter called into the kitchen. “I thought he was working from home, mostly.”

“He is,” Ned replied. Peter could hear the faint noises of a spoon knocking against the side of a jar of baby food. “He went to see Doc today.”

Peter sank back into the couch cushion again. “Oh.” 

Harry had finally told Peter and Ned about what he, Bruce, and Stephen had been attempting to do, in relation to his illness. Last Peter had heard, the levels that they took to monitor its presence in Harry’s head had gone down even further, which meant that there was reason to believe Harry might be one-hundred percent free of the goblin thing, at some point in the future. Peter was happy for his friend, and grateful that the sickness he’d been dealing with all his life would finally be eradicated, and maybe he’d be allowed to live normally. 

And, maybe, he’d stop making so many jokes about his shortened life expectancy. Peter understood that it was one of Harry’s few coping mechanisms, but hopefully he’d no longer need it, soon enough. Peter looked forward to the day they could celebrate that. 

Ned wandered back out of the kitchen maybe fifteen minutes later, holding Benny in one arm. Peter thought it was amusing how much easier it got to be to hold a baby the more times you did it. Benny’s face was covered in a yellowish-brown goo, no doubt the squash and rice mix he’d been fed. 

“We need a wipe,” Ned announced, a little rhetorically, Peter thought. 

“Why didn’t you just grab a paper towel from the kitchen?” Peter asked, reaching for the baby bag he’d brought with him. 

“We’re out,” Ned explained. 

Peter sighed, and handed him a wet wipe. Ned used it to clean off Benny’s face, struggling to keep the baby from grabbing hold of the wipe himself. 

“Have you two gone shopping at all, recently?” Peter questioned, watching this turn of events, a little amused by it. 

“Ah… I mean, not… not a  _ planned _ shopping trip,” Ned answered. He disappeared back into the kitchen long enough to throw the wet wipe away, and then returned to the front room, sitting down on the couch beside Peter. Benny patted at his cheeks, and Ned tilted his head side-to-side, which seemed to please Benny to no end, for the baby was laughing. “We just kind of go when we really need something.” 

“Ned, I feel like the two of you need to write grocery lists and… and budget for shopping trips,” Peter told him. “You’re out of hand soap in the bathroom.” 

“There should be one under the sink,” Ned said. 

“I checked.” Ned hummed, focusing on Benny, and Peter let out a sigh. “You and Harry aren’t taking very good care of yourselves, are you?” 

“Well, we’re still alive,” Ned replied, switching Benny into his other arm. “I think that’s probably the most important thing, right?” 

Peter merely frowned at him, and Ned shook his head. “We’re fine,” he said. “When we start starving, or whatever, I’ll let you know, but you have enough to worry about without adding me and Harry to the list.” 

Peter started to respond, but before he could, the front door opened, and Harry himself walked through. Peter noticed that he seemed extremely tired, although he perked up a bit when he saw Peter and Benny. 

“Hey,” he said brightly, walking around the couch to join them. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“It was unplanned,” Peter replied, watching as Ned handed Harry Benny, who cooed at his other uncle, reaching up to cradle his jaw in his tiny hands. The smile that graced Harry’s features was probably one of the most genuine Peter had ever seen on his friend’s face, and he relaxed a little, glad that his son could bring Harry as much joy as he very clearly did. 

“Cheri said she was going to Washington Heights,” Harry said, looking at Peter. “You didn’t want to go with her?”

Peter shrugged. “She really wanted to go just for Abuela. Having Benny and I there would’ve given her too much else to think about.” 

“Makes sense.” Harry turned his eyes back to Benny, lifting him over his head. Benny squealed, kicking his feet, and Harry grinned up at him. “Look at you fly, kid.” 

“You should see him _ crawl,” _ Ned put in, and Harry lowered Benny again, switching him over to one hip. 

“That fast, huh?” he asked, and Ned flapped his hands. 

“Like a fish in water.” 

Harry looked at Benny, lifting an eyebrow. “Really?” Benny patted his cheeks, and Harry grinned again. “Might have to have you prove it, bud.” 

Benny seemed enthused by the idea, kicking his feet, landing a few solid impacts into Harry’s stomach. Peter saw him grimace with each one, and he set Benny down on the floor. Benny sat still for a moment, looking around him, adjusting to the change of perspective. He then looked up curiously at the three men, all of whom were watching him. 

“Go ahead, Benny,” Peter invited. “Show Uncle Harry how fast you can crawl.”

Benny hummed in his baby way, before he grunted as he adjusted his position. Then, mostly using his legs to propel himself forward, he began to crawl, babbling as he went along. Peter saw Harry smile at the sight, and he applauded. 

“Look at that!” he exclaimed. “Benjamin Anthony Parker, you’re a speedster!” 

“A marvel!” Ned put in, grinning as well. 

Benny flopped over onto his side, and yawned widely, which drew a laugh out of the three of them. Peter retrieved his son from the floor, his heart melting as Benny curled up into his chest, eyes half-lidded. 

“It’s naptime, hm,  _ mijo?”  _ Peter sank back down onto Ned and Harry’s couch, adjusting his grip on Benny so that the baby could sleep comfortably in his arms, and so that he wouldn’t struggle to hold him the entire duration of his nap. He glanced at his friends, and lifted an eyebrow when he saw their expressions. “What?” 

“You used Spanish,” Ned said. “It was cute.”

Peter blew out a breath, but he was smiling. “Cheri wants Benny to learn,” he explained. “We read that it’s good to be casual about using it with him, and having one parent speak it to him all the time helps, too, so that’s what Cheri’s been doing, lately.” He looked down at Benny, who’d fallen asleep almost immediately, once Peter had sat down. “Should’ve figured he’d go to sleep after eating.” 

“S’all right,” Harry said with a shrug as he walked around the couch and started down the hall to his bedroom. “Stay until he wakes up!” he called over his shoulder. 

“I guess I’ll have to,” Peter said. He looked at Ned. “You can go do that work you said that you had.” 

“Right,” Ned agreed, after a moment. “Probably a good idea. You’re okay?” 

Peter nodded, and watched as his friend rose from the couch, disappearing down the hall as well. He heard Ned’s bedroom door close, but after a few minutes, Harry came back out into the front room. He’d changed his clothes, Peter noted, watching as he joined him on the couch again, sitting down with a heavy sigh. 

“Ned said you went to see Doc,” Peter said, after a moment of silence. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. Peter watched him reach up and rub the back of his head. “Just to get a level check. They look pretty good, I guess.”

“That’s good news,” Peter said. 

Harry nodded in agreement, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Wouldn’t have thought I’d ever be able to say that,” he admitted. “I just… I figured it would just be something I lived with, until it killed me.” He shrugged. “Now, Doc’s saying that there was never any reason to think it would, so I don’t have any fuckin’ idea what my dad and those doctors he must’ve paid off were doing to me.” 

Peter winced, his brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said, quietly, and Harry flapped his hand. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Whatever was wrong with me is being dealt with. That’s the only thing I care about, at this point.” He glanced at Peter. “Which might sound like I’m just… y’know, giving up caring about how screwed the way my dad raised me was, but I’ll always care about it. It’s just that it doesn’t change anything. He’s out of my life, and I got a fuck ton of money from him, out of that settlement. There’s really nothing left except maybe to send him to prison, but that wouldn’t do anything, not for me.” He shook his head. “So. It is what it is.” 

_ “Es lo que es,” _ Peter sighed, wishing that it wasn’t. 

Harry let out a tired chuckle, and ran his hand down his face. “Ugh. I need a nap. Benny’s got the right idea.” 

“You can go,” Peter told him, and Harry shook his head. 

“What, and leave you sitting out here with nothing to do?” He put his legs up on the coffee table in front of them, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’s the research going?” 

“Pretty good,” Peter said, glad for the chance to talk about it. “What I’ve documented so far, in terms of the amputees and how they live… I don’t think it’ll be too difficult to establish why the new technology would be a huge improvement in their lives.” 

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “And you have this new technology ready to go?” he queried. 

Peter hummed a little. “Well. It’s on it’s way.” 

Harry chortled. “That’s good,” he said. “Sounds like it’s going to work out.” 

“I hope so,” Peter said. “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll be able to go in front of the review board this time next year.” 

“Yeesh, why does it take so long?” Harry questioned, and Peter shrugged one shoulder. 

“You gotta make sure your argument is flawless,” he said. “I’m not going in front of them more than twice, so I want it to be as perfect as possible before the first time, which means I take a lot of time to get it there.” 

Harry blew out a breath, and leaned his head back against the couch. “Well,” he began, “I don’t envy you, that’s for sure.” He uncrossed his arms, and pushed himself into a standing position. “You want something to drink? Ned’s finally letting me have soda.”

“You get to have  _ soda?” _ Peter asked, amazed. “That’s awesome, Harry.”

“It’s pretty spectacular,” Harry agreed, walking around the couch and heading for the kitchen. “Just having the  _ choice _ of being able to have Sierra Mist instead of water is the best part.” 

Peter was extremely happy for his friend. He couldn’t imagine the sort of realizations Harry had been making about how he was raised and his childhood, recently, and how it had all just been one huge lie in order to allow Norman Osborn to be able to control his son, but he thought that now that Harry could really  _ live, _ he had the chance to make up for it all. Nothing would ever really resolve the absolute horror that his childhood had been, but at least Harry now had the opportunity to do what he wanted, and feel safe doing it, too. 

Of course, Peter still had a deep desire to go after Norman Osborn, but he wouldn’t. Because Harry didn’t want him to, mostly for his own safety. Peter appreciated that, but it didn’t really soothe his anger towards the asshole, and he hoped Harry knew that, because all of the hatred Peter harbored for the man came directly from how he’d treated his friend. 

A dark thought came to him, and he turned to look over his shoulder as Harry reemerged from the kitchen, holding two cups of soda. He passed one to Peter as he sat down again, and took a drink from his own. “Ah,  _ that’s _ the  _ shit,” _ he sighed happily. 

“Harry,” Peter began, and his friend hummed questioningly as he took another drink. “Osborn hasn’t tried to get in contact with you, has he?” 

“No, of course not,” Harry said at once. “It would breach the terms of his parole. I’m wondering if I should try to get a restraining order signed off on, before those six months are up, just to have a buffer already in place to keep him away from me once his parole wears off.”

“That might be a good idea,” Peter agreed. “You should mention it to Tony.”

Harry snorted. “Tony doesn’t like me.” 

“He  _ hates _ Norman Osborn,” Peter said. “If you told him that you’d feel safer, with a restraining order, he’d help you get one.” 

Harry didn’t respond, and Peter took a drink of Sierra Mist, looking down at Benny, who shifted in his sleep, his nose rubbing against Peter’s shirt. Peter set his cup down, and gingerly turned Benny’s head so that his face was tilted upwards instead. He didn’t think the bab would suffocate, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Harry said, and Peter glanced at him, after picking up his cup again. His friend shrugged. “I’m not really worried about him trying to get in touch with me, because he didn’t, once I cut him out after… y’know.  _ That _ whole thing.” 

Peter did know, and he hated being reminded of it. Their friendship had been severely tested, because of how Harry had believed he needed to do anything his father told him, and it bothered him that his friend had felt that way, had been  _ made _ to feel that way. It was yet another reason Peter wasn’t beyond murdering Norman Osborn, if ever necessary. 

“But I - maybe it would be better to make sure that he  _ can’t _ do that,” Harry went on. “If he ever got it in his head that he wanted to.” 

Peter tilted his head. “Like I said,” he began, “Tony would be willing to help. If you got a restraining order, it’d mean that he’d stay away from Cheri, too, considering how much time you spend with her, and by extension, Benny and me. Right?” 

“Yeah, probably,” Harry replied. 

“I don’t really see any  _ negatives _ to getting a restraining order,” Peter concluded, and took another drink. 

Harry let out a sigh, and finished off his own drink. “Guess not,” he said. 

That wasn’t really any sort of confirmation that he’d look into it, but Peter could tell that he was finished talking about it. He watched Harry lean forward to put his cup on the coffee table, before settling back into the couch again, his eyes closing. 

“How’s work going for you?” he asked. 

“Fine,” Harry said. “Same old stuff. Plants, y’know.” 

_ Plants, right.  _ Peter didn’t know anything about plants. “Have you grown anything exciting?” 

Harry opened one eye, looking at Peter out of the side of it. “Do you have any idea what I do at my job?” he asked, and Peter bit the inside of his cheek. 

“... plants?” 

Harry chortled. “Yeah, Peter, I  _ do _ plants.” 

“Sorry,” Peter said, amused. “As long as you enjoy it, does it matter if people get it?” 

“No, not really,” Harry answered, “but it’d be nice to be able to talk about it, and not have people fall asleep out of boredom while I’m doing so.” 

“Talk about it,” Peter invited, looking at him. “I won’t fall asleep.” 

Harry smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said, “but  _ I _ might fall asleep, so I’m gonna pass.” He exhaled, and closed his eyes again. “Has Cheri decided if she wants to go back to work next year?” 

“I don’t think so,” Peter said. “We’ve been talking about it, but she - I think she’s worried about leaving Benny with me, considering how weird my schedule is, with Spider-Man and my doctorate.” He lifted his shoulders. “I know she’d  _ like _ to go back to work, but we’d need a more stable solution where Benny’s concerned, and we haven’t come up with one, yet.” 

“Mm.” Harry seemed thoughtful. “There are plenty of people who’d watch him during the day.” 

“I know,” Peter said. “And so does Cheri. May’s already mentioned that we can leave him with her a couple days a week. We just - we don’t want to put anyone out like that.” 

“Maybe you could do a schedule,” Harry suggested. “Let May have him when she can, maybe Tony would be willing on the other days.” He made a face, eyes still closed. “Ned and I could watch him, too, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Peter repeated, grinning, and Harry huffed. 

“We like the kid, but we can’t take care of ourselves, Peter. Do you really want to trust us with your child on a normal basis?” 

Peter’s smile faded. “I was just talking to Ned about that,” he said, and Harry opened one eye again, his eyebrow raising. “You two should do better about grocery shopping and… and eating healthier.” 

“But our parents don’t live here with us anymore,” Harry said. “There was no hope as soon as you moved out.” 

“Cheri and I moved out on the assumption that you’d be able to survive without us being around to make sure you eat properly,” Peter said, “considering you’re both grown adults and have the means to sustain yourselves.”

“It doesn’t really have anything to do with food,” Harry replied. “We have food. We just lack a lot of the other staples of a normal household.” 

“Like hand soap and paper towels?” Peter guessed. 

“See, I was going to go pick up both those things. but then I realized that the last two hours of getting tested for a sickness that I thought was going to kill me my entire life had worn me out, and that I wanted to go home instead,” Harry told him. “Sorry.” 

Peter looked away again, sighing a little. In his arms, Benny squirmed, and he quickly adjusted his hold on the baby, not wanting to wake him up. Benny didn’t cry a lot, but when he was disturbed from his rest, he was prone to full-on break downs, just like any other human being. 

“Ned should be the one to go to the store, anyway,” Harry continued. “I don’t know the last time he left the apartment. Guy  _ needs _ to get laid.” 

Peter blew out a breath. “And what about you?” he asked, and Harry snorted. 

“I’m doing fine.” 

“Are you? What’s been happening with Liz?” Peter queried. 

“Nothing,” Harry responded, flatly. “She’s engaged.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “When did  _ that _ happen?” 

“A few months ago,” Harry said with a shrug. “Dunno. She was dating the guy for about a year beforehand. I guess his dad is her dad’s lawyer, or something. I didn’t really listen when she told me about him, mostly because I was dealing with the crisis I was having over the fact that my free sex was going away.” He looked sideways at Peter. “Any hot, single engineers over at Stark Industries I can get with?” 

Peter frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t exactly spend my time looking around for those, when I’m there.” 

“Hm, then what use are you?” Harry asked. He was smirking, though, so Peter didn’t reach over and whack him. 

Peter really didn’t mind that neither of his friends were in steady relationships, mostly because it wasn’t his business, but also because he didn’t think either of  _ them _ minded very much, either. Just because Peter was happily married with a child didn’t mean the same route was for everyone. Like Harry, some people just liked being able to go to someone and have sex, with no strings attached. At least, for a while, that someone had been the same person for Harry. Apparently, though, that was no longer true, and although Harry said he was doing fine, Peter had to wonder. He knew that Harry  _ loved _ being intimate, enjoyed human touch. In that aspect, he was much different from Ned, who Peter didn’t think enjoyed sex very much at all, even if he did like having some sort of affection imposed on him on occasion. 

“Cheri might know somebody -”

“Stop,” Harry groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. He lifted the other in Peter’s direction, a clear symbol of cease-and-desist. “I’m fine, Peter, really. I - with the treatment going on, I don’t know if I have the energy to have sex, let alone the drive.” 

Peter winced away from him as best he could. “All right, all right, I get it,” he said with a laugh. “Yeesh.” 

Harry snickered, and then gestured for Peter’s cup. “You done with that?” Peter passed it over, and smiled a little when Harry tilted it to catch whatever soda might’ve remained inside of it on his tongue, before he stood and carried it into the kitchen. 

Benny released a quiet noise, and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, reminding Peter of Griffin when the cat stretched mid-nap. The baby’s eyes fluttered a little, and Peter smiled down at him when he looked up at his father. 

“Hey,” he greeted, quietly. “Are you ready to head home?” Benny’s response was a yawn, and Peter rose from the couch, heading towards where he’d left Benny’s car seat near the front door. He was loading the baby into it when Harry stepped back out of the kitchen. 

“Aw,” he said. “Does this mean you’re leaving?” 

“I think so,” Peter replied, snapping the last buckle and rising to his full height. “You should get a nap in, and I should get some writing done.”

“All right,” Harry conceded. He squatted down in front of the car seat, leaning into it to place a kiss on Benny’s forehead. “See you later, kid,” he said, standing up again. He patted Peter’s shoulder. “Come over more often.” 

“You could come to  _ our  _ apartment,” Peter suggested, walking down the hall with the car seat in hand so that he could say goodbye to Ned as well. 

“That’s fair, you guys do have toilet paper,” Harry said, jokingly. Peter shook his head at him as Harry ducked into his own room, and he knocked on Ned’s door before opening it.

Ned turned around in his desk chair, and Peter gestured. “We’re heading out.”

“Ah, okay,” Ned said, standing. He hugged Peter, which surprised him a little, and then reached out and took Benny’s hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Love you, Benny.” He looked at Peter. “You too, man.”

“We love you too, Ned,” Peter said, smiling at him. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Ned offered, and Peter nodded in agreement, leading the way out of his room and out into the front room again. Ned followed him to the door, after Peter grabbed the baby bag, and they walked together down the hall, and then the stairs. They paused in the small lobby of the apartment building, and Peter took a moment to look Ned over. Ned cocked his head to the side. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Peter said. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” Ned said, after a second. “Why?” 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You’re asking why I want to make sure my best friend is okay?” he queried, and Ned let out a laugh. 

“I’m good, Peter,” he said. “Really.” 

“Okay,” Peter said. “I’ll see you.” 

Ned nodded, and Peter carried the car seat and the baby bag out of the apartment building, down the small set of stairs to the sidewalk. He headed for the car, which Cheri had left with him, since he had Benny, and he placed the car seat into the backseat, buckling it in place. Benny whined at him, and Peter clicked his tongue. 

“None of that,” he said, lightly. “You’ll see your uncles again soon enough.” He pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, and then closed the back door, moving around to the driver’s side. He climbed in behind the wheel, starting the car, and glanced into the backseat at the car seat. “Let’s go home. We can call Mama once we get there.” 

**May 19th, 2027 - 420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 3:32 PM**

“Shh!” Cheri said, gesturing towards Tony, who’d been chuckling to himself as he followed her down the hall to the apartment. “It’s naptime. I don’t want you waking Benny up.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony apologized, clearing his throat. “Just - it’s funny, right? Knock-knock jokes?” 

“Tony, you stole that from  _ Friends,” _ Cheri told him, using her keys to unlock the door. “Don’t think you can pretend you didn’t, not with me.”

Tony blew out a breath. “Damn,” he said, and Cheri shot him a grin before opening the door, and stepping into the apartment as quietly as possible, Tony behind her. 

The apartment was silent, which wasn’t a surprise. Cheri closed the door gently, and locked it, while Tony moved further into the apartment. He inhaled, sharply, immediately drawing Cheri’s attention. She quickly joined him, and he pointed towards the living room. 

Cheri followed his gesture, and felt the tension that had crept into her shoulders evaporate. 

Peter was relaxed on one of the couches, his head lolling onto his shoulder, clearly asleep. Benny was also asleep, on his chest, one of his hands curled up near his face. Peter’s hand was resting gently on the baby’s back, to keep him in place. 

Cheri hummed, softly, and then reached over to smack Tony’s shoulder. He hissed under his breath, rubbing at the spot of impact. 

“You scared me,” she accused, whispering it. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, although he sounded more victimized than guilty. 

Cheri shrugged the duffle bag she’d taken to Washington Heights off of her shoulder, and carefully stepped around the dining table to get to the hall. After dropping the bag onto the foot of her and Peter’s bed, which disturbed Griffin, who’d been dozing there, she returned to the front room. 

Tony had sat down at the peninsula island on one of the bar stools, and was scrolling through the series of pictures he’d taken of Benny and Peter. He held up his phone to show Cheri, who nodded, and gestured for him to send it to her. 

She then walked over to the living room, moving silently, and settled down on the couch near Peter. He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes fluttering open. They moved around for a moment, looking first down at the baby fast asleep on his chest, before shifting over to Cheri. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, carefully holding Benny tighter to his chest as he adjusted his position. 

“Hi,” he greeted, softly. 

“Hey,” Cheri replied, reaching out to brush some of his hair back. “Did you mean to fall asleep?” 

“Mm, no,” Peter said, “but what else was I supposed to do?” He breathed outwards, and some of the curls on Benny’s head stirred. The baby’s nose wrinkled, momentarily, before his expression relaxed again, the hand near his face unfolding to press against Peter’s chest. Peter looked back at her. “How’s Abuela?” 

“She’s okay,” Cheri answered, tucking her feet under her. She waved a hand in Tony’s direction. “Tony wanted dinner.”

Tony lifted a hand in greeting towards Peter, who nodded back, grinning at him. It’d been a couple weeks since he’d seen him, Cheri knew; Tony had been busy at work, dealing with the release of Stark Industries’ first personal computer. 

“I’ll put him in his crib,” Peter said, tilting his head down towards Benny. Cheri nodded in agreement, and watched as Peter changed his grip on Benny so that he could stand up without waking him. He cradled the baby’s head in one hand, and the rest of him in the other, holding him to his chest. Carefully, slowly, he rose to his feet. When Benny didn’t immediately wake up, he exhaled in relief, and disappeared down the hall. 

Cheri stood as well, and went over to the kitchen. “I don’t know what to make,” she said, speaking at a normal volume, now.

“I’ll eat anything,” Tony responded, sliding his phone away. “Stephen tries to cook, sometimes, but… eh. Y’know?” 

Cheri knew. She poked her head into the fridge, wondering if they even  _ had _ anything to prepare for dinner. It looked like they were well-stocked on baby supplies, but adult food seemed to be lacking. 

Peter returned from the nursery, stretching his arms up over his head. He plunked down beside Tony at the island, and Tony reached over to hug him, making that Dad-Hug-Grunting noise as he did so. 

“Hey, Tony,” Peter said, smiling a bit. Tony released him, and Cheri cocked her head to the side. 

“Where’s the adult food, Pete?” 

“Adult food?” he repeated, his smile fading. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that it looks like you went shopping, but that you only bought baby stuff,” Cheri explained, waving her hand towards the fridge. “Why didn’t you buy groceries for us?” 

“Oh. Ah…” Peter shrugged. “I survived off of ramen these past few days. I didn’t know what you’d want me to buy.” 

Tony snickered a little, and Cheri rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She appreciated that Peter liked to check with her about everything, but  _ sometimes, _ she wished he were capable of making decisions on his own. Picking out food shouldn’t have been such a big deal. 

“Queens, the next time you go grocery shopping,” she began, “maybe it’d be good if you did some actual grocery shopping.” When Peter merely frowned at her, she sighed quietly. “I’ll make sure to write you a list.”

Peter relaxed. “Thank you,” he said. 

“So, Pete, how’s the research going?” Tony asked him, leaving Cheri room to go back rooting through their kitchen for something to make. 

Eventually, she settled on pasta and red sauce, since they had both things in the pantry, as well as a frozen thing of sliced garlic bread. It didn’t take long to get the sauce heating up, and the noodles in boiling water. As she was separating the bread onto a tinfoil covered baking pan to put into the pre-heated oven, the baby monitor came to life. 

“Right on schedule,” Peter said, beginning to slide off the stool he’d sat down on. 

“Can I go?” Tony asked, quickly. He glanced between the two of them, sheepish. “Just - it’s been a minute, since I got to see him.”

Peter looked at Cheri, and eyebrow lifted, and Cheri hummed. “Go ahead,” she said to Tony, turning back to the garlic bread. 

She heard him go down the hall, and Peter joined her in the kitchen proper, stirring the sauce with the wooden spoon she’d pulled out. Cheri closed the oven door, setting the timer for five minutes, and glanced at her husband. “How was he, while I was gone?” 

“Good,” Peter replied. “He can pretty much crawl across the apartment now, without having to stop to take a break.” He grinned. “Ned thinks he’s going to be walking before he’s even a year.” 

Cheri huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said, her heart aching a little at the thought. “He’s growing too fast, Queens.”

Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “He’s still only six months,” he said, lightly. “We get him for the next seventeen-and-a-half years, at least.” 

“I know,” Cheri said, “but we’re going to miss the baby stuff when he’s older.” 

Tony came back down the hall, then, and Cheri wasn’t surprised to hear him talking to Benny in the way he always did, like Benny was already a grown-ass adult and could understand every word he was saying. When they came within sight of the kitchen, she couldn’t help but smile at her son, whose curls were sleep-tousled, but whose brown eyes were open wide and bright as he took in his surroundings. He recognized her immediately, and cooed, bashing Tony in the ribs with his feet. 

Tony puffed outwards, squinting one eye. “Yeah, there’s Mama,” he said, breathlessly. “Ugh, kid, you got me in my lung.” 

Cheri walked over to the counter, and Tony passed Benny to her over it, reaching down to rub at where the baby had kicked him. Cheri covered Benny’s face in kisses, pulling a giggle out of him as he buried his hands in her hair. 

_“Mi amor, te extrañe mucho,”_ she said to him. _“Abuela_ _desea poder venir a verte, me pidió que te diera muchos besos_.” She did so, pressing them to his nose, his forehead, his cheeks, and Benny pressed his hands against her face after a moment, clearly having had enough. Cheri laughed, and pressed one final kiss to the top of his head, as she adjusted her grip on him. 

“I would like him back now,” Tony said, holding out his arms. 

“Excuse me?” Cheri queried, eyeing him. “Did you just ask me to hand my  _ son _ to you?” 

“Yes, I did ask you to hand my  _ grandson _ to me,” Tony confirmed. He opened and closed his hands, much like Benny did whenever he spotted something or someone he wanted to be able to touch. “Please.” 

Benny, who’d been turning his head between the two of them during this back and forth, suddenly let out a low whine, and turned his head in a completely different direction, seeking out his father. Peter, who’d been busy watching over the food, immediately turned towards his son’s sound of distress. Both Cheri and Tony made a face when Benny held out his arms towards Peter, mimicking Tony’s motions from moments prior. 

Peter grinned, and took the baby from Cheri, raising him up over his head. Benny laughed, kicking his feet happily behind him. Peter brought him down again, after flying him around the kitchen for a moment, and held him to his chest. He looked at Cheri and Tony, and his grin softened into a smile of apology. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I just do what the baby asks.” 

Cheri rolled her eyes, and moved around him to go back to cooking, while Tony huffed and crossed the apartment to the living room, where he plopped down on the couch. Peter looked back at Cheri, who was unable to hide a smile at Tony’s petulance, and Peter went to join him, taking Benny with him. 

Cheri shook her head to herself, still smiling, and turned to test the pasta. She popped one of the rigatoni noodles into her mouth, and grimaced.  _ Way _ too chewy, still. Five more minutes, at least. She opened the oven to check on the garlic bread, and cursed quietly, seeing it was starting to burn already. She quickly tugged the baking sheet out, and plopped it down on a bare part of the stovetop, flipping the slices over so that the bottoms wouldn’t get any darker. 

She then turned around to look at the three boys in the living room, her smile returning when she saw that Peter had set Benny down on the couch between himself and Tony. The baby was looking between the two of them while they had a conversation that sounded to Cheri like it had something to do with the new S.I. computer. Benny’s eyes were big and attentive, as though he could understand everything his father and grandfather were saying. 

Cheri’s chest felt like it would implode with the amount of affection she suddenly felt for all three of them. She reached back and gripped the edge of the counter, feeling a little lightheaded. She shook her head, assuming she was probably hungry  _ and _ a little dehydrated. She reached a hand up to grab a cup out of a cabinet to put some of their filtered water into, and as she was pulling it out, everything went dark. 

She didn’t remember the next few seconds. What she  _ did _ remember was Peter saying her name, and opening her eyes to find him crouched over her, his expression twisted into one of fear. She blinked a few times, wondering what the fuck had just happened. 

“I’m okay,” she said, and tried to sit up. Peter helped her do so, and she realized that she was laying on the floor of the kitchen. The cup she’d wanted to take from the cabinet spun slowly on the wood nearby. Tony stood near the peninsula counter, holding Benny, and looking just as worried as Peter did. Benny had tear tracks down his cheeks, like he’d been startled into a crying fit, but had quickly been calmed down again. 

Cheri blinked again, harder, and looked at Peter. “What happened?” 

“You just - you  _ fell,” _ Peter said. He reached around to touch the back of her head. “I think I caught you before you hit your head, but it - did you black out?” 

“I think so,” Cheri replied, after a moment’s thought. God, why was she suddenly so  _ tired? _ “I need some water,” she concluded. “Please.” 

Peter must have agreed with that, because within the next ten seconds, a cup of the cool liquid was in her hand. She took a small sip of it, noting that her hand was shaking. 

“Hm.” She steadied it as best she could, and took another drink. “I’m just dehydrated, Pete. It’s okay.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. “‘Cause. Your head -”

“It has nothing to do with my head,” Cheri told him. He was thinking of the injury she’d sustained when they’d had a thing with Felicia Hardy and Richard Fisk. Or maybe he was referring to the one she’d received from her sperm donor, Tiberius Stone, when he’d kidnapped her. Either way - 

“I’m fine.” She finished the water. “Help me up.” 

Peter didn’t seem as though he wanted to, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he supported her under the arms and helped her to her feet. Cheri set the cup down on the counter, and stirred the pasta. 

“This is probably done, now,” she said, glad that she wasn’t experiencing any sort of fear or something after her fainting episode. She thought that if  _ she _ showed that she was worried, it would only make Peter worry more, which she honestly didn’t believe was necessary. 

She considered the heavy pot of boiling water and rigatoni noodles, and then decided that she probably didn’t want to risk lifting it over the colander in the sink, just in case. She looked at her husband. 

“Do you mind straining that?” she asked, and Peter stepped up to the oven to do so without a word. Cheri was free to approach Tony and Benny. She smiled at her son, reaching out to wipe the wet marks from his face, and press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony asked her. 

“Yeah,” Cheri replied. “I’ll just be drinking a lot of water tonight.” 

She kissed Benny again, and then returned to the stove, where Peter was returning the pasta to the pot. “Thanks, Queens,” she said, lightly, and reached for the pasta sauce. “Tony, do you want to put your sauce on separately, or is it okay if I just go ahead and mix it?” 

“That’s fine,” Tony said, after a moment, and after she had to look back at him, to prompt a response with a lifted eyebrow. “Thank you.” He jiggled Benny just the tiniest bit. “High chair?” 

“Yes please,” Cheri agreed, turning her attention to the food once more. She could feel Peter lingering behind her, as though he was worried she’d fall over again. “I’m  _ fine, _ Pete,” she assured, putting more firmness into her tone than she had previously. “Grab me one of Benny’s plates.” 

He did so, and she put a small serving of pasta onto it, before handing it to Peter again. She heard him carry it over to where Tony had set the baby in his high chair, and she was able to focus a bit better on her own task, knowing her son was being fed. 

Soon enough, they all had plates of pasta, and were sitting around the dining table. Peter, rather than focusing on his own food, seemed to be paying more attention to whether or not Cheri was eating. She decided asking him to leave her alone wasn’t really a battle that she wanted to fight. 

Instead, she enjoyed her food, and looked at Tony. “Good?”

“Mhm.” He swallowed the forkful he’d just put into his mouth. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to feed you,” Cheri told him. “Whenever you want.” 

“Oh, Tony, I wanted to mention that I talked with Harry about something, and he might end up giving you a call sometime soon,” Peter said. “I almost forgot to bring it up.” 

Tony hummed around his fork. “What does he want?” he queried, chewing. 

“He’s considering getting a restraining order against Norman,” Peter explained. “I told him you could probably help with that.” He frowned. “If - if you aren’t too busy.” 

Tony exhaled, glancing first at Cheri, and then at Benny, who was presently making a mess of his face using the pasta sauce. Something in his expression softened, and he looked at Peter again. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d be glad to help.”

Peter relaxed. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let him know he can talk to you about it.” 

“Why is Harry making this decision now?” Cheri asked Peter. “What happened?” 

“Nothing. Yet.” Her husband poked at his own pasta.  _ Finally,  _ Cheri thought. “We were talking about it a few days ago, and he thinks it might be smarter to make sure nothing  _ can _ happen.” 

Cheri supposed that made sense, but she had a feeling Peter had had more of a hand in Harry’s thought process on the matter than he was saying aloud. 

“Maybe I’ll just call him myself,” Tony said, after a moment. “He might not call me, if he starts thinking too hard about it.” 

“Might be a good idea,” Peter agreed. He tried to funnel some more pasta into Benny’s mouth, rather than around it. As he typically did, however, Benny tried to take the spoon Peter was using from his hand, determined to feed himself. 

“Benny,  _ mijo, tu coordinación mano-ojo no es lo suficientemente buena para eso _ ,” Cheri sighed. 

“Why not let him feed himself?” Tony asked. 

“Because he is six months old and we’ve seen him drop the spoon the few times we’ve let him have his way,” Cheri replied. 

“But... he’s Benjamin Anthony Parker,” Tony said, and he turned his attention to Peter. “Give him the spoon.” 

“Do not,” Cheri told her husband, firmly. “If you do, and he makes a mess, it will be your job to clean it up.” 

“I want to see,” Tony insisted. 

Peter cowed under Cheri’s glare. “Sorry,” he said to Tony. “He  _ does _ make a big mess every time we try, and I don’t want to have to clean it up.” 

Tony threw up his hands in mock exasperation, and looked back down at his plate. 

Dinner went by a bit more quietly after that, Cheri watching to make sure that all three of the boys sitting with her at the table ate enough food based on their sizes and ages, while feeding herself, and making sure to drink more water. She couldn’t believe that she’d let herself get dehydrated to the point of fainting. She’d never been that irresponsible when it came to taking care of herself. 

She supposed drinking water (or anything, really), had simply slipped out of her mind, considering she’d traveled quite a bit that day, and then gone to S.I. to help Tony with some clerical things. He’d offered to pay her, but she’d refused, considering she owned him close to a million dollars for the apartment she currently lived in. 

Not that Tony would ever let her or Peter pay him back, but she could pretend she was sort of doing so by refusing any extra money he tried to give her. 

When they’d finished eating, Peter passed Benny off to Tony to watch and amuse, while he joined Cheri in the kitchen to do dishes. Well,  _ she _ did dishes; he was a bit distracted by the fact that he was able to touch her again, after the past few days of having no access to her while she’d been in Washington Heights. Cheri found herself cleaning plates and the pots she’d used with Peter’s arms latched around her waist, and his face buried in the junction of her neck and shoulder. 

“Pete,” she said, lightly, when she found having him so close was impeding the speed with which she could do dishes. “I love you a lot, you know this, but I need to finish these before the sauce gets crusty.” 

“But I  _ missed you,” _ Peter mumbled into her neck, his breath warm against her skin. 

“I missed you too, Queens,” Cheri said, “but I have to wash the dishes.” 

Peter groaned unhappily, and pressed his face more firmly into her shoulder. 

_ “Pete.” _

“Fine,” he grumbled, after a moment, and scooted away from her, slinking off towards the living room, looking downtrodden. 

Without Peter to distract her, Cheri finished the dishes in a matter of minutes. She placed the final fork in the dish rack, and then wiped her hands off on a kitchen towel, moving to lean her hip against the peninsula counter as she examined the situation in the living room. 

Griffin had emerged from wherever he hid when people he didn’t live with were over, and was allowing Tony to stroke his back, looking very pleased with the situation, his eyes narrowed in contentment. Peter had taken Benny, and was presently feeding him his after-dinner bottle, which Tony hadn’t been able to convince the baby to drink himself. Peter was always good about getting Benny to eat or drink, which Cheri was very grateful for. 

He noticed her standing by the counter, and smiled at her, tilting his head towards Tony. She nodded in agreement, a bit amused by the fact that Tony was petting their cat as well. Tony, when they’d first gotten Griffin, had been adamant about how much better dogs were than cats, and how he’d never touch their cat, no matter what. It was clear, though, that Tony was enjoying petting Griffin, if the calm expression on his face was any indication. 

He seemed to realize, after a moment, that both Peter and Cheri were looking at him. He blinked a few times, and then flushed a little, giving Griffin a final pat. 

“Good cat,” he said, gruffly, pushing himself to his feet. Griffin jumped down off of the couch and disappeared beneath the coffee table. Tony walked around it, and over to where Cheri was. 

“Thank you for the food,” he said. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied, doing her best not to laugh. She leaned up and hugged him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come over more often, okay? We miss seeing you as much as we used to.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Tony replied. He looked pleased by her request, though, and he turned towards Peter, who’d joined them by the counter, still holding Benny, who’d finished his bottle. Peter had lifted him to his shoulder, and was patting his back, to get him to burp. “See you later, kid.” 

“All right,” Peter agreed. “Be safe getting back home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said dismissively, and he leaned in to kiss the back of Benny’s head, just as Peter managed to get a burp out of him. Tony whistled. “Good one, Benny.” 

Cheri followed him to the front door, opening it for him, and Tony leaned down to kiss her cheek before he stepped into the hall. “Good night.”

“Night, Tony,” she responded, watching as he headed off down the hall. When he’d rounded the corner, she closed the front door, and locked it. She then turned to face her two boys. Benny was already falling asleep on Peter’s shoulder, which he was prone to doing after his evening bottle, and had done since he was a newborn. 

“I love you both so much,” Cheri said, without really thinking about it. 

Peter’s expression shifted, his eyes softening. He held out his free arm, and Cheri stepped towards him, circling her own around his waist with a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. 

**May 25th, 2027 - 420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 2:21 AM**

“Oh my God - Cher.”

“Hm?” 

“I know why he won’t stop crying.” 

“Wait, why?” 

Peter took Cheri’s hand, and placed her finger into Benny’s mouth. He watched her expression, noticed how her half-lidded eyes suddenly opened up wide. 

“You feel it, too, right?” 

Cheri looked at him, grinning. “His first tooth.” 

“His first tooth.” 

“Oh, Benny,  _ mijo, lo siento.” _ Cheri scooped up their son, whose face was streaked with tears and blotchy from his non-stop crying. She carried him into the kitchen, and retrieved the teething ring they’d placed in the fridge at the beginning of May, in preparation for this instance, which their pediatrician had told them to keep an eye out for.  _ “Pobrecito.” _

The moment the frozen teething ring entered Benny’s mouth, the baby seemed to deflate with relief. Peter and Cheri exhaled a tandem sigh, to express their own relief, and exchanged a glance, glad that they might actually get the chance to go back to bed that night, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some general story this time around, pulling some story elements established prior to now together into one explanatory chapter, as well as some foreshadow-y bits.


	15. August Affairs (2027)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something big happens on August 18th.  
> "Big" doesn't necessarily mean "good," in this case.

**August 17th, 2027 - 420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 7:12 AM**

Peter slid out of the closet, freshly dressed for the day, and leaned against the wall, tilting his head. Cheri stepped out of their bathroom, toweling off her hair, and took him in, an eyebrow raised. “What?” she asked 

“Do you know what day it is?” he queried. 

“Uhm. Sunday?” she guessed, and when Peter tilted his head the other direction, she frowned. “Oh, God, Pete, are we still doing this, after all this time?” 

“Duh,” he replied, and he walked away from the wall towards where she stood near their bed. When Cheri merely looked at him, tossing her towel around him, he reached for her hands. “What day is it, love of my life?” he prompted, running his thumb over her engagement ring.

Cheri sighed, patiently. “It’s August 17th.” 

“Mhm,” Peter said. He drew her hands up around the back of his neck, and then placed his own on her waist. “And what does that mean for the two of us?”

Cheri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. “It’s the day we started dating,” she told him, enjoying the game he was playing with her more than she was going to admit out loud. 

“Exactly,” Peter said, grinning, too. “So. It’s a day we celebrate.”

“Queens, we have a wedding anniversary that kind of means the same thing,” she reminded him. 

“No, no, no,” Peter said. “They mean two very different things. Our wedding anniversary is important because it’s the day we got married, declared our love, in public, and basically tied our entire lives together forever as a sign of that love.”

“Right.” 

“Today is important for two different, distinct reasons,” Peter went on. He tugged her a bit closer to him, so that her chest was pressed against his. “One, it marks the day of one of the bravest things I ever did -”

“Honestly, Pete -”

“- and two,” he went on, speaking over her, and meeting her eyes, “it’s the day I made one of the best decisions in my entire life.”

Cheri glanced between his eyes for a moment, before smiling a little, and leaning up to press her lips to his. Peter kissed her back, humming quietly, his grip on her waist tightening, just a little. 

After a moment, though, Cheri pulled back, and murmured, “I still think our wedding day is more important.”

Peter snorted, and, before Cheri even knew what was happening, he’d gripped her beneath the thighs and flipped her around, her back hitting the bed. She giggled, bouncing a bit on the mattress, and gripped his shoulders when he settled over top of her. 

“You’re just saying that because your vows were better,” he said, teasingly, and Cheri smirked in response. 

“Oh, yeah, _that’s_ why,” she replied, and tugged him closer. 

She was about to lean up and kiss him, when the baby monitor on their nightstand came to life, and she pressed back on his shoulders instead, offering him a regretful smile. “Good morning,” she mumbled, and scooted out from beneath him off the bed, going to retrieve their son. Benny was the only reason they were awake so early on a Sunday, after all. 

**August 18th, 2027 - Stark Tower - Broadway and 58th St., New York, NY, USA - 1:15 PM**

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Harry said, as he held open the door leading into the lobby of Stark Tower for her. 

Cheri merely snorted, pushing Benny’s stroller through the door. Harry fell into step beside her as they headed towards the elevator, Cheri flashing the badge Tony had given her to allow her access to the whole Tower at the security dude as they went. 

“Of course I was going to come with you,” she said, resting her arms on the handle of the stroller as they paused in front of the elevator doors. “I know that Tony terrifies you.”

“He doesn’t even have to be there,” Harry mumbled under his breath. “I could’ve met with the lawyer literally anywhere. All I’m doing is signing the paper.” 

“Yeah, but since she’s _Tony’s_ lawyer… kind of makes sense he’d want to be there,” Cheri pointed out. 

The elevator doors slid open, and she guided the stroller into it, Harry following behind her. She scanned her badge, and then hit the button for the penthouse. They both watched as the doors slid closed again, and the lights behind the various numbers began flicking on one at a time as the elevator zoomed upwards. 

“Still,” Harry said, although Cheri could tell he was running out of argumentative statements. 

“Just leave it, Harry,” she suggested. “Be grateful that Tony was willing to help, that this is happening. After today, you won’t ever have to see Norman again. It’ll be illegal for it to happen. That’s something to celebrate.” 

“Which is exactly why we’re going to Chipotle after this, and I’m getting the biggest goddamn burrito they can physically put together for me,” Harry declared, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “With guac on the _side.”_

Cheri smiled to herself, and leaned around the stroller to check on her son. Benny had fallen asleep on the ride over to the Tower, and he was still dozing away in his seat, some drool leaking out of the left corner of his mouth. She wiped it away with the rag she had in the cup holder on the handle, fondly, and straightened back up just as the elevator came to a halt. The doors opened onto the hallway that led to the penthouse entrance, and Harry held the elevator doors back so that Cheri could pass through without fear of them closing on her. 

Not that they would have, obviously. FRIDAY ran the whole Tower, after all; there was no chance of the AI slipping and allowing elevator doors to close while people were still exiting them. 

Harry followed Cheri down the hall to the penthouse entrance, where Cheri paused, and waved her badge over the scanner next to the glass door. It buzzed, unlocking for her, and Harry tugged it open. Cheri pushed Benny’s stroller through, and grinned at Tony as he walked out of his office. 

“Hey,” he greeted, brightly, heading over to them. He kissed Cheri’s cheek, and passed a gentle hand over Benny’s lolling head, mindful of his nap. Almost regretfully, Cheri noted, he shook Harry’s hand, and then quickly put the one he’d used to do so into the pocket of his slacks, looking back at Cheri. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Yeah, well, I offered,” Cheri replied. “To drive, for one thing, and to… to just be here. For him.” She tilted her head in Harry’s direction. “Best friend and all that. Brother, essentially.” 

“Right.” Tony rose up onto his toes, and then fell back down again. “Well, she’s not here yet, and I was actually about to head down and grab lunch.” 

“Okay,” Cheri said, after a moment of silence. “Do you mind if we wait up here?” 

“Of course not,” Tony said, and he waved his hands towards the array of sitting room furniture that filled the main room of the apartment, alongside the kitchen. “Sit, relax. You can have anything that’s in the fridge. I should’ve had… had one of the assistants bring me something earlier, but I forgot all about it.” 

“S’okay,” Cheri assured. “Go get your lunch. We’ll be all right.” 

Tony nodded in agreement, and turned, heading towards the doors of the penthouse himself. He paused halfway there, and turned around again. “Can I get you guys anything while I’m down there? There’s usually an array of bagels and shit, just to munch on -”

“No, thank you,” Cheri said, and she looked at her friend. “Harry?” 

“I’m good. Thanks, though,” Harry said, a little too quickly, and Cheri refrained from rolling her eyes as she turned back to Tony, waving him on. 

“Okay,” he said, and turned again, this time actually walking out of the penthouse. The door locked behind him, once it had closed again, and Cheri moved Benny’s stroller closer to one of the couches, which she then sat down on with a small sigh. She sank right into it, of course, and she was suddenly hit with the overwhelming desire to go to sleep. 

Harry, of course, noticed. He sat down beside her, and said, “Not sleeping well?” 

Cheri pointed her left foot in the direction of the stroller, as she crossed her left leg over her right. “Stink pants over there has decided that the only way he can get back to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night is if he’s lying between Peter and I. On our bed. Which means we have to stay awake until _he’s_ asleep again, before we can take him back to his crib.” She rubbed at the space over her right eyebrow. “It’s exhausting, Harry.” 

“Sounds like that’s just parenthood, kid,” Harry replied. 

He was right, but Cheri didn’t need to admit that. 

In truth, it wasn’t only Benny that had been keeping her awake. She’d been having trouble falling asleep, too, lately, and she hadn’t been able to figure out why. The only time she ever usually had problems sleeping was when she was alone in an unfamiliar place. The apartment was anything but, and she was always in bed with Peter, whom she trusted more than anyone in the world. Even if she _were_ in a strange place, having him close by should’ve been all she needed to sleep soundly. 

She supposed it may have had something to do with the fact that she was going back to work again, in September. She’d been trying to craft a curriculum plan, while also watching Benny during the day, and it had been hard. Peter, who was nearing the end of the sixth-month research period for his thesis, had offered to be home all day with him, so that Cheri could get back into teaching, and she’d accepted the option gratefully. The change would happen permanently starting in September, which meant she still had about two weeks to share all day, every day with her son, but she was already thinking about having to leave him for eight hours, five days a week, and she thought that that might have been giving her reason to struggle with sleeping. 

She simply had too much to be anxious about to sleep properly, she supposed. 

_Well,_ she thought to herself, watching as Harry reached over to wipe away more drool that had started to drip out of Benny’s mouth, _after today, at least, I won’t have to worry about_ him _anymore._

She _had_ been worried about Harry. Ever since Norman Osborn had been released from prison in June, she’d worried, even though she knew that he was still on probation for six months, which was the grace period Harry had to get the restraining order in place. After he signed the papers that the lawyer brought to the meeting today, it would be a done deal. Legally, Norman wouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of him, his place of work, or his home, ever again, without possibility of an arrest. 

It helped ease some of her fear for her friend. What with the treatment he was going through, even if he said he’d never felt better, she knew Harry was a bit frayed around the edges. She hoped that he might be able to relax, even the slightest bit, once he knew that the person who’d made his life so terrible for years could no longer be a part of that life.

Peter, too, thought things would be much better, after that. For the past few months, he, along with Cheri, Harry, and Ned, too, had been speaking in terms of “After the restraining order.” It was almost like some final hill that they needed to get over, before they could relax. _All_ of them, since the four were so closely intertwined that one’s struggle was a struggle for the other three as well. 

Cheri hoped the anxiety she knew would ease within her would ease for her husband as well. Peter had been working so hard, recently, doing his best to gather all the data he needed while he was still able to work with his volunteers, getting it all down on paper, onto graphs and charts that Cheri didn’t understand, but that she examined closely while he tried to explain to her what he was seeing. She really had no clue what he was talking about, most of the time, but she enjoyed seeing him so in his element, enjoyed seeing him get excited about things, about his work, and what he wanted to do. 

That day, in fact, Peter was visiting with one of his volunteers, a young veteran who’d been honorably discharged after losing his leg overseas. In fact, he wasn’t much older than they were, and Peter, Cheri had noticed, enjoyed talking about him specifically when Harry was over at their apartment. She thought she knew what Peter’s end goal was, in bringing him up around their friend so often, but so far, Harry hadn’t taken the bait. She hoped that he would, sooner rather than later, because come October, the opportunity would probably be gone, since Peter would no longer be meeting directly with his volunteers. 

“I should’ve asked for a bagel,” Harry sighed, pulling Cheri out of her thoughts. She smirked at him, and he frowned back. “Don’t look at me like that. Doesn’t he keep any food up here?”

“Go look,” Cheri suggested, gesturing towards the kitchen. “He said we could have anything in the fridge.” 

Harry seemed hesitant, even as he rose from the couch, and took a tentative step in that direction. Cheri scoffed, and used her foot to kick him lightly on the ass. _“Go.”_

Harry made a face at her, but all the same headed across the penthouse towards the kitchen. Cheri smiled to herself, and heard Benny begin to fuss within his stroller, as he woke up from his nap and realized he didn’t know where he was. She turned the stroller so that he could see her. 

_“Todo está bien,”_ she soothed. _“Solo estamos visitando a_ Poppy.” 

Benny’s scrunched-up expression relaxed a little, most likely because he recognized her, and not necessarily because he understood what she was saying. He held his arms out towards her, and Cheri considered him for a moment, before giving in. She reached out and unbuckled him from the stroller, lifting the hefty baby from the seat. Benny, pleased to be freed from his confines, tugged on her curls as she set him in her lap instead. 

“Ouch,” Cheri muttered, pulling her hair from his hands. _“Hemos hablado de esto,_ Benny. _No tiras del pelo.”_

“There’s nothing up here!” Harry announced as he closed the refrigerator door again. “How can that be possible? Doesn’t he _eat?”_

“Stephen’s restricted his diet,” Cheri explained, adjusting her grip on Benny, who was trying to grab at her curls again. “He probably hasn’t had any groceries brought up recently, that’s all.” She offered him a pouty look. “Do you want me to go downstairs and get you something?” 

Harry whined, throwing his head back. “No,” he mumbled, making his way back towards her. “I’m _fine._ I _guess.”_

Cheri smiled to herself, and then cringed when Benny successfully got a handful of her curls into his tiny but fierce grip and _tugged._

_Hard._

“Benny,” she sighed, and then plopped the baby back into his stroller, after freeing her hair from his hand. Benny looked around himself for a moment, once he was seated in his stroller again, and then looked at her. Cheri was unsurprised when his eyes welled up with tears, and he let out a low whine. 

_“No,”_ she told him. _“Le tiraste del pelo a Mamá. Se supone que no debes hacer eso.”_

She closed her eyes when Benny started to cry for real. She hated hearing her son cry, for any reason, but knowing that she was responsible was always the worst. Still, she wasn’t going to go back on it. She’d tried to teach Benny so many times not to pull hair, but he didn’t seem to want to accept that it was something he wasn’t allowed to do. 

“Yikes,” Harry said, avoiding the stroller by a wide berth as he sat down again. “Loud baby.”

“He’s a brat,” Cheri sighed, reaching for the diaper bag in the pocket beneath the stroller seat. She pulled out the container of soft snacks that she always carried with her when she had Benny, and dumped some out onto the stroller tray. Benny’s crying trickled off as he reached for one of the snacks, recognized it was food, and put it into his mouth. He was a comical sight, red-faced and snotty-nosed, shoving snacks into his mouth. 

“You want one?” Cheri asked Harry, holding the container up so that he could see it. Harry made a face. 

“Baby food?” 

“They’re basically soft crackers,” Cheri told him, shaking out a few onto her hand, and holding it out towards him. Harry picked up one, and squeezed it between his fingers, his nose wrinkling. 

“Ew.” 

Cheri rolled her eyes, and popped the rest of the snacks into her own mouth. She dusted her hand off on the leg of her jeans as she replaced the container in the baby bag, turning back to Benny, to buckle him back into his stroller. He was eyeing her, while still munching on the snacks, as though he hadn’t forgiven her for putting him back in his stroller. This amused Cheri more than anything else, and she smiled at him. 

“Go ahead and keep glaring, _mijo,”_ she invited, switching over to English for the sake of the conversation. “You’re about as menacing as your dad.” 

Harry snorted. “Clearly you’ve never actually seen Peter angry,” he commented. “My man’s scary.” 

“No, I know,” Cheri said, “but when he’s glaring the way Benny is right now, because he didn’t get his way…” She shook her head. “It’s nothing.” 

She jumped, slightly, when something pelted her on the side of the face, and turned back towards her son. Benny had his arm raised, and his glare had been replaced by an expression of surprise. While Harry snickered, Cheri slowly looked down, and saw that one of Benny’s snacks had been the thing to hit her. 

She picked it up off the floor, and held it up, so that Benny could see it. _“Arrojaste esto?”_ she asked him, and Benny huffed. “Benjamin Anthony Parker, you are a _brat.”_

Harry had broken down into guffaws, and she turned a glare towards him instead. “And you, encouraging him!” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry managed through his laughter. “I just can’t - I can’t believe he actually _hit_ you with it.” 

“He shouldn’t be _able_ to hit me, let alone throw something,” Cheri said. “What the hell?” 

Benny had been developing very rapidly. That much was true, as was the fact that he was larger than a normal-sized nine-month-old. His expanse of sounds that he could make and communicate with was broad, and he had recently learned how to stand on his own. Dr. Kramer predicted he’d be walking by September.

But throwing things? And successfully hitting something or someone with the object that was being thrown? Babies shouldn’t have been able to do that until they were at _least_ eighteen months. For Benny, _maybe_ fourteen, considering the current rate of his development. 

There was no way. 

Unless -

“Oh, God,” Cheri whispered, blinking at her son, who stared back. 

“What?” Harry asked, although from the hesitancy in his voice, Cheri suspected that he had some idea already. 

“Harry, I - what if Benny inherited Peter’s Spider-Man genes?”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, looking at Benny instead. 

“I don’t - I don’t think he did,” he said, finally. 

“But -”

“Cheri, if Benny had the Spider-Man genes, he’d be sticking to walls and crying all the time because he can hear and see everything,” Harry told her. “He threw _one_ thing at you and hit you _one_ time. It was just - it was a fluke.” 

“His development, though, Harry,” Cheri said, waving her hand at her son. “How many sounds he makes, the way he can process things.”

“He’s developing some skills quicker than other babies,” Harry said with a shrug. “So what? He has you and Peter as his parents. Peter’s a goddamn genius, and you’re a genius, too, in your own way. You both skipped grades and stuff. It makes sense that your kid is smart as hell.” He tilted his head to the side. “Besides, if Benny _did_ have Peter’s Spider-Man genes, I think his pediatrician would have brought something up by now, right? Since they have samples of his blood and everything?” 

Cheri forced herself to relax. Harry had a point. Peter’s blood was weird, and it was in his blood that the spider genes were most obvious, right? So if Benny’s blood also contained evidence of those genes, and thus was weird, it would make sense for _someone_ to have said something by now, whether it be Dr. Kramer or the nurses at the hospital when she’d first given birth. 

She was panicking for no real reason. Harry was right. Benny had hit her with something. So what? She imagined babies were always trying to throw things, and her son had just managed to actually do it properly, which wasn’t odd considering how many other things he was already able to do, despite being younger than normal. 

“Benny -” she began, reaching forward to pick up her son. She didn’t have a chance to before the entire building shook with an explosion. 

**420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 1:32 PM**

“Thank you again for coming over here,” Peter said as he walked Dallas to the front door of the apartment. “My wife has the car, and it -”

“No need to explain,” Dallas assured, adjusting his grip on the crutch he used. “I like being able to go places that aren’t the physical therapist and the grocery store.” 

Peter grinned. “Even if it’s an apartment that’s littered with baby toys and cat hair?” he asked, and Dallas returned the smile. 

“Well, it’s not the most _luxurious_ place.” 

They laughed, and Peter pulled the door open for him. Dallas moved out into the hallway, and turned to face him again. 

“Are we meeting again next week?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Peter replied, “and I’ll have the leg repaired by then. I’m sorry it didn’t work for you.”

Dallas shrugged. “That’s why it’s in an experimental stage, isn’t it?” he queried, and Peter relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m glad that you’re letting me test it out on you.” 

“Hah, got nothing better to do,” Dallas said, reaching up to scrub his hand through his blond curls. Peter couldn’t stand the fact that Harry refused to let him introduce the two of them; he knew his friend would be infatuated with Dallas Duncan.

“I’ll email you, and let you know what works for me, next week,” Peter told him, and Dallas nodded in agreement. 

“Sounds good. I’ll see you.”

“Bye, Dal,” Peter said, and watched his volunteer head off down the hall, limping a bit on his prosthetic, using his crutch to carry most of his weight on his left side. Peter, frustrated that the prototype leg hadn’t worked for him, wanted to kick himself. He couldn’t figure out what was going wrong. 

Dallas was the only one of his volunteers who’d offered to try out one of his prosthetics for him. Peter’s technology was meant to work neurologically, meaning that the prosthetic leg he’d designed should have been responding to instructions from Dallas’s brain, and been working the same as a normal leg. Dallas had reported during their meeting that it did so _sometimes,_ but not always, and that really meant it wasn’t much better than his current prosthetic. 

It pissed Peter off to no end. He’d been working on perfecting the technology for years, now; since he’d graduated with his bachelor’s. He couldn’t believe he still hadn’t made a fully functional model. 

He groaned, tiredly, as he closed the door to the apartment and leaned back against it. “I’m never gonna get my doctorate,” he mumbled to himself, reaching up to rub at his eyes. 

Feeling sorry for himself, he walked back to the living room, and closed his laptop, which he’d been using to go over some data with Dallas, relevant to the research process. After he’d shoved the laptop, and the papers he’d had out, onto the coffee table, he reached for the remote to the TV, wanting to find some reruns of _The Good Place_ or something, that would maybe take his mind off of his struggles. 

When the TV came on, he saw that it was turned to the news, already, and he felt his heart leap into his throat when he realized what the live footage that was currently being shown on the screen was of. 

_“Just minutes ago, Stark Tower, the main location for Stark Industries in New York, was hit by what is suspected to have been a bomb. Already, fire has spread through most of the center floors of the building, and is quickly making its way into the remaining floors as well. NYFD and NYPD are on the scene, and are currently in the process of retrieving the suspected 10,000 workers who are currently operating inside from the burning building. We will stay with this story as it progresses.”_

Peter, of course, didn’t hear the last segment of the news report, for he’d already stripped down, changed into his suit, and gone out over the balcony of the apartment, desperate to get to the Tower. 

**Stark Tower -** **Broadway & W. 58th St., New York, NY, USA - 1:36 PM**

Cheri groaned quietly as she sat back up, disoriented. The explosion had knocked her off the couch, and she thought she’d hit her head on the corner of the coffee table in the sitting area, because it ached in a very specific spot. She rubbed the spot, wincing, and then her eyes widened when she remembered -

“Benny!” 

She could hear her son crying, and she crawled over the floor to where his stroller had tipped over. She quickly extracted the baby from the stroller seat, and then checked over him for injuries. He didn’t seem to have any obvious ones, and she exhaled slightly in relief, holding him to her chest. 

“Harry?” she asked, looking around for her friend. 

She spotted him where he’d fallen from his own seat, and she made her way over to him, cradling Benny in one arm. She settled down on her knees beside him, shaking his shoulder. “Harry.”

Her friend let out a soft groan as his eyes fluttered. He slowly sat up as well, rubbing at his own head, blinking dumbly. 

“The hell was that?” he asked. 

“I think there was an explosion, somewhere below us,” Cheri replied, recalling the sound she’d heard before she’d fallen. “It had to have been inside the building, because it shook.” She looked towards the windows that covered the north-facing wall of the penthouse, and blew out a breath when she saw that the glass had been completely shattered, no doubt from the force of the explosion, however many floors beneath it had been. 

“Jesus,” Harry mumbled. 

“Crap, Tony!” Cheri exclaimed. She forced herself to her feet, adjusting her grip on Benny, who was clinging to the front of her shirt like a monkey. He’d stopped crying, but Cheri could feel the tension in his tiny body. He was terrified. 

_Me too, mijo,_ she thought, looking around her. 

“We need to try to get down to the ground level,” she said to Harry, beginning to make her way towards the entrance to the penthouse. The reinforced glass that marked the door hadn’t shattered the same way the windows had; the explosion must’ve been closer to the north side of the Tower than the south. 

“Cheri, if there was a bomb or something, the Tower is _on fire,”_ Harry told her. “We’re not going to be able to go anywhere.” 

“We have to _try,”_ she insisted. “Tony is down there somewhere.” 

_“Cheri.”_ Harry reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her away from the door. “We will suffocate on smoke if we leave this room. Right now, with that door shut as securely as it is, we’re _safe._ Fire isn’t going to get to us, not before a rescue team can.” He gestured towards the windows. “We need to focus on getting someone’s attention down _there,_ so that someone knows we’re up _here,_ and will come get us.” 

Cheri knew he was making excellent points, but her mind wasn’t allowing her to move away from the thought of her, for all intents and purposes, father-in-law. “But… but Tony -”

“Is the most stubborn dude in the world. A stupid bomb isn’t going to be the thing to take him out,” Harry told her, firmly. “You know that.” 

Cheri closed her eyes, and forced herself to focus on the baby in her arms. No matter what Tony’s current position was, he’d want her to get out of the Tower, get Benny out of the Tower, as safely as possible. And what Harry was saying was the best way of going about that. 

“Okay,” she whispered, with a small nod to herself. She opened her eyes again, and looked at Harry. “Let’s try to get in touch with the people on the ground.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, obviously relieved that she’d agreed with him. He pulled out his cell phone, and cursed. “Of course. The _one time_ Stark Service decides not to work.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket, and carefully made his way towards the windows, which weren’t really windows anymore, but were just giant rectangles of empty space in the walls. “Stay back,” he said over his shoulder, and Cheri lingered where she stood, holding Benny close and watching in worry as her friend moved through the broken glass. He paused, and leaned out just far enough to be able to see down to the street. 

“Oof, look at all those people,” he commented. “The press is gonna have a field day with this.”

_“Harry.”_

“Right, getting noticed.” Cheri watched as he waved one of his arms. “HEY! HEY, WE NEED HELP UP HERE! WE HAVE A BABY!” 

He paused, and Cheri waited, part of her already knowing that there was no way that had been enough. After a moment, Harry shook his head, confirming her thoughts. “I don’t think they can hear me.” 

“Don’t wear your voice out,” Cheri suggested. “They’re busy helping the people who are in more immediate danger, anyway. Like you said, we’re all right where we are.”

“Until the fire burns through the structural integrity of the building and it collapses,” Harry pointed out. 

“Don’t think about that,” Cheri advised, although her heart thudded painfully in her chest at the thought. “We’ll be out of here before that happens. The fire won’t be able to spread that quickly.” 

“We won’t have to wait to find out, either,” Harry said. 

“What?” 

He pointed, and turned his head to look back at her, grinning. “Have I mentioned that I’m in love with your husband, recently?” 

**1:42 PM**

Peter noticed Harry on the penthouse floor immediately, standing near the windows the way he was. It looked like the glass was gone, which wasn’t a surprise, especially if the explosion had rocked the building. Peter, knowing that Cheri and Benny would be with his friend, decided that the penthouse would be his first stop. He’d get them down from there, and then help the fire department with recovery of all the other floors. 

He slipped through the window that Harry had been standing in front of, mere seconds after Harry had moved out of the way. The relief that filled him when he spotted Cheri was incredible, and he couldn’t stop himself from running to her and pulling her into his arms. Cheri fell into him willingly, letting out a shaky laugh. Peter lifted his mask up, needing to be as closer to her as possible, and he buried his face into her curls, cradling Benny’s head with one of his hands. 

“This is very touching,” Harry began, tightly, “but uh - fire? Eating away at a building of which we are on the top floor?” 

Peter allowed himself to revel in his wife and son for a moment longer, before he pulled away again, tugging his mask back down. 

“Where’s Tony?” he asked, leading Cheri over to the window, helping guide her around the worst of the glass that covered the floor. 

“I don’t know,” she murmured. 

Immediately, Peter’s dread skyrocketed again, but he forced it not to overwhelm him. He needed to get Cheri, Benny, and Harry out of the Tower, first. _Then_ he could worry about his mentor. 

“Okay,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I can’t take you both at the same time.” 

“Cheri’s first,” Harry said at once. “Obviously.”

“Harry -”

“I’ll be all right,” he interrupted, before Cheri could even start to form an argument. “Peter got here so fast, we probably have, like, hours to get out of here.” Even has he said this, however, the building groaned, and some of the color faded from Harry’s face. “Okay, well, maybe not _hours -”_

“I’ll be right back,” Peter assured him, wrapping one arm around Cheri. “You’ve got Benny?” 

“Yes,” Cheri answered, huddling into his chest, locking her right arm around his neck. “Don’t drop us, okay?”

“Never,” Peter whispered, and aimed a web towards the closest building across the street. He tugged on it, just to make sure it was secure, and then, with the slightest movement of his body, let himself and Cheri fall from the uppermost window of Stark Tower, sailing at an alarming speed towards the building across the street. Cheri turned her face into his shoulder, and Peter grit his teeth, angling his legs so that they would hit the building, first. 

He managed to get the physics right; his feet touched the wall of the building, managing to break the impact just enough to avoid Cheri having to deal with too much of it. 

“Okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on her a bit. “Now to get to the sidewalk.” 

Cheri nodded in agreement, and Peter took them down, grateful for the practiced movement, although he was used to having both arms accessible throughout the process. 

All the same, they touched down after maybe twenty seconds. Peter released Cheri from the tight hold he’d had on her, and she stepped away from him, putting both arms back into holding Benny. 

“Don’t move,” Peter told her, and fired another web, to help get him back up the building so he could swing across to Stark Tower again. 

The Tower itself, and the events happening on the street around it, were a horrific sight. Firefighters were weaving around one another, many carrying heavy hoses attached to their trucks and aiming them towards the building, in an attempt to put out the fire that was blazing through the central part of it. Others, as well as paramedics, were tending with S.I. workers, most of whom looked relatively okay, while others were coated in soot, or blood. It seemed that they’d focused their attention on getting people away from the floors that had dealt with the brunt of the explosion, first. 

Peter put everything on the ground level out of his mind. He still needed to get Harry down. 

He ducked into the penthouse again, swinging over from the building across the street, rolling up to his feet once he was inside. Harry was waiting for him, looking just a little bit more worried than he had. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “Before I can think about what’s going to happen.” 

“What, you think I’ll drop _you?”_ Peter asked, his amused exasperation acting as a brief reprieve in the face of everything that was happening. 

“I’m sincerely hoping that you won’t,” Harry responded, joining Peter at the window. He hesitated, gesturing awkwardly with his hands. “Uh, how do you -?”

“Harry,” Peter sighed, more exasperated, now, than amused. 

“Sorry! Sorry.” Harry slipped his arms around Peter’s neck, and Peter put one of his own around his friend’s waist, tugging him closer, until Harry was pressed against him.

“You need to work with me here, dude,” Peter muttered. 

“I _know,”_ Harry said, through his teeth. “Just - you’re _very_ toned, and I am _very_ gay.” 

“You’re pansexual,” Peter reminded him, aiming the webshooter he had on his free arm. “You can keep it in your pants while I’m saving your life.” 

“Okay,” Harry said, “but… y’know, don’t be alarmed if I, like, can’t look at you for the next week.” 

Peter sighed, and let the web he’d fired pull them over to the opposite building. Repeating the same movements he’d done with Cheri only minutes prior, he got Harry down onto the sidewalk, within the same area that he’d left Cheri. He was relieved to see that she _hadn’t_ moved, and she hurried over to them as Harry carefully stepped away from Peter, once his feet were on the sidewalk. Cheri threw one arm around her friend, and Harry hugged her back, while Peter turned to examine Stark Tower. 

“Okay,” he said, making a decision in his mind, and Harry and Cheri both looked at him. “Harry, get Cheri back to our apartment.”

_“What?”_ Cheri demanded at once. “I’m not leaving until I know that Tony’s okay!” 

“All of this -” Peter gestured around them, namely at the siren-blaring fire trucks and police cars. “- is very bad for him.” He nodded towards the baby in Cheri’s arms. “I want him out of here.” 

“But -”

“Cher, please,” Peter insisted, reaching out to cradle her cheek in one hand. “I’ll find Tony, I promise, but you need to take Benny home.” 

Cheri stared at him for a moment, before her eyes lowered towards Benny, who had his face tucked into her shoulder. He turned his head just a little, enough so that he could peek out at them, and Peter saw Cheri’s resolve crumble. 

“Okay,” she said, quietly, looking back up at him. She reached up with one hand and cupped the back of his neck. _“Find him,”_ she whispered, urgently, “but _please_ stay safe.” 

“I will,” Peter said, reaching around to take her hand and squeezing it momentarily, before letting it go. He looked at Harry. “Get them home.”

Harry nodded, and reached to take Cheri’s hand himself, tugging on it gently. Peter waited, watching as he pulled her away down the sidewalk, and then he turned back towards Stark Tower, inhaling and exhaling, once, to center himself. 

He needed to find Tony. 

He started towards the mess of firetrucks and police cars and ambulances, figuring the first step would be to figure out if Tony had already emerged from the building. Before he’d gotten more than three steps across the street, however, a familiar sight appeared nearby. He turned towards the glowing orange sparks that had popped up out of nowhere, and watched as Stephen clambered through the portal, which looked to have been opened from the Sanctorum. Stephen’s gaze first took in the burning Tower, before he seemed to sense Peter, and turned towards him instead. 

“Tony?” he asked, not needing to add anything more, and Peter could only shake his head in answer. 

That seemed to be enough to get Stephen moving. Peter watched in fascination as he did some magic thing with his hands that made him rise upwards, towards the building proper. 

Supposing that meant Stephen was on search-duty, Peter continued with the original task he’d set for himself, which was to look for his mentor amongst the people that had already been pulled from the building. If Tony wasn’t with them, he’d head inside as well. He needed to find him. 

**420 E. 51st St., New York, NY, USA - 2:33 PM**

Cheri paced the length of the front room of the apartment, gnawing on her thumbnail, something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She was aware of Harry watching her from where he sat on the couch, his knee bouncing, looking as though he wanted to say something, but not coming up with anything. 

“We should’ve heard something by now,” she mumbled, more to herself than to Harry. “It’s been over forty-five minutes.”

“Cheri, our phones are off-line,” Harry reminded her. “They wouldn’t have had any way of getting in touch with us, even if Peter did manage to find Tony. We just need to try and relax until someone actually comes and tells us what’s going on.” 

Cheri merely shook her head, and continued to pace. 

Maybe two minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. She quickly hurried to open it, and blew out a breath when she found Ned standing on the other side. Her and Peter’s other friend looked sick, almost, no doubt with worry. 

“Thank fuck,” Ned breathed, reaching out and pulling her into a hug. “Holy shit, I’ve been trying to call _someone_ for almost an hour, now, as soon as I saw what was going on on the news. I saw that Cap and Bucky showed up at the Tower with Sam. I tried to get over here as fast as I could, but the fucking subways are a mess. What the hell happened?” 

Cheri hugged him back, and then tugged him into the apartment, closing the door behind him. “Peter’s still at the Tower,” she said. “He was looking for Tony. We don’t know what happened to him.”

“He wasn’t with you guys?” Ned asked, looking between her and Harry, who’d risen from the couch. 

“No,” Cheri said. “He went downstairs, for lunch - he could’ve -” She couldn’t bring herself to say aloud the fears that had been living with her from the moment she’d realized what had happened, and that Tony was not with her and Harry upstairs in the relatively safe penthouse. She closed her eyes, and placed her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. 

“Cheri, it’s okay,” Harry insisted, gently. She heard him approach her, and gently guide her into a hug, tucking her head beneath his chin in the way he used to, when they were kids and he’d comfort her after a particularly nasty encounter with some bully or another. “I’m sure Peter found him, and he had to take twenty minutes just to convince him to go to the hospital, even if Tony insisted that he was fine.”

“He’s right,” Ned put in, clearly trying to help. “They’re probably on their way to the hospital right now, and Peter has every intention of calling you once he can get to a phone that actually works.” He paused. “Not that _your_ phone works, for him to be able to call you, but -”

There was another knock, a little bit more insistent, this time. Ned went to answer the door, since Cheri was cradled in Harry’s arms, but she quickly pulled away from him when she heard the commotion that was entering her apartment, recognizing both Bruce and Stephen’s voices as they gave commands to -

“Pete,” she breathed in relief, before having to swallow down terror again at the sight of the man he carried in his arms. _“Tony.”_

He looked _bad._ His clothes were torn, and he was covered in soot, bruises, cuts, blood - all sorts of nastiness that you’d expect a victim of a bombing to be covered with. He appeared to be completely out of it, and she hoped that was Stephen’s doing, rather than the work of the explosion. 

She hurried over to where Peter was currently being instructed by Bruce to set Tony down on the countertop, which was thankfully clear of too many obstacles. Any that _were_ present, like their little holder for take-out menus, Stephen quickly got out of the way with some magic. 

Bruce was carrying his travel-medical bag, which he was sorting through and pulling things out of. Harry, realizing that he could be useful, went to help him. She was faintly aware of Bruce giving him instructions on what to set up as she moved forward to join Peter at the counter, looking Tony over as she did so. He was breathing, that much she could see, although his chest was rising and falling much too shallowly for her taste. She reached for Peter’s hand, and squeezed it between both of hers, stepping close into his side. 

“We think he’s going to be okay,” Peter told her, quietly. “Stephen said he has some cracked ribs, and his right wrist and leg are broken, but other than that, he’s okay.” 

“The ribs are what I’m worried about,” Bruce said, attaching an IV of saline to the joint of Tony’s elbow. “I don’t want any fragmented pieces getting anywhere near his lungs, but considering the impact -”

“What impact?” Cheri asked. 

“We think he was on the same floor as the explosion, but on the opposite side of the building from it,” Stephen said, looking very stoic. Cheri knew, however, that inside he had to be panicking, considering it was his partner laying before him. “He flew into a wall, which would’ve come down on impact in any other building. Stark Tower’s constructional integrity, however, meant that the wall he hit was one step removed from a steel barrier.” 

Cheri winced, hating the visual that provided her with. She watched Bruce take Tony’s blood pressure, his brow creased. 

“Ninety-over-fifty,” he said after a moment. “Lower than normal for Tony, but that could be because he’s been eating healthier. It isn’t dangerously low by any means.”

“That’s something, right?” Ned asked. 

“Yes,” Stephen said, “but we need to deal with his ribs, and get his wrist and leg casted. We would have taken him to a hospital, but this was closer, and Bruce and I can handle it. We didn’t want to transport him too far when we didn’t know the extent of the damage around his lungs.” 

“He’s probably inhaled quite a bit of smoke, too,” Bruce said, as he slipped a nose cannula over Tony’s face. “We’ll check for pulmonary barotrauma.”

“Blast lung?” Harry said, frowning. “But I thought he was on the other side of the building -”

“The bomb was in the cafeteria,” Stephen said. “A wide, open room. It was positioned on the north side, and Tony was closer to the south side, but he was still within a fifty-foot radius of it.” 

“Jesus,” Cheri sighed, hiding her face in her hands and walking away from the counter, unable to watch anymore of what was happening there. She went down the hall and into Benny’s nursery, closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it for a moment, eyes closed, not wanting to break down in tears. 

She heard soft sounds coming from Benny’s crib, where she’d put him upon their arrival to the apartment. She opened her eyes again, and crossed the room to it. Benny was laying on his back, kicking his feet and gurgling. Seeing her, he cooed, and Cheri scooped him into her arms, moving to sit in the rocking chair. 

The door opened, after she’d been rocking him for a minute, lost in her thoughts, which she was trying to keep everywhere but on whatever was happening in the front room. She glanced towards it, and breathed outwards when she recognized the silhouette of her mother standing in the doorway. 

“Cheri,” she began, entering the room and walking over to the chair. _“Mi hija,_ are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “How did you get here?” 

“The subway,” Isabel answered. “That’s why it took me so long. I left campus the minute I heard what had happened.” She reached down a hand, smoothing it over Benny’s curls, and then pressed a kiss to the top of Cheri’s head. “I was worried, because I remembered you saying you and Harry were going to be at the Tower today.”

“We’re all right,” Cheri said, and then she swallowed. “But you saw Tony. He isn’t.” 

“He will be,” Isabel replied, and Cheri bowed her head, shifting Benny in her arms so that she could press her nose to his curls. “Cheri, you don’t need to worry about him. Stephen and Dr. Banner are going to take excellent care of him. If they could save Peter after he lost all that blood, they’ll be able to save Tony.” 

“That was at the Compound, in the med-bay,” Cheri said. “They are in my _kitchen.”_

“Did you see all of the medical things Bruce has out?” Isabel queried. “They have everything they need to make sure he’ll be okay. They were doing a chest x-ray, when I walked back here to find you. I’m sure they won’t find any evidence of blast lung.”

“The cracked ribs are bad enough, Mamá,” Cheri told her. She rose from the rocking chair, cradling Benny to her shoulder. His hands ended up in her hair, and when he pulled, she didn’t have the energy to get upset with him. She merely pulled him away from her, and replaced him in the crib, sighing quietly as she looked down at him. 

“Cher?” That was Peter. She glanced over her shoulder to see him step into the room, Isabel moving around him and back out into the hall. Peter closed the door again, and walked over to join her at the crib, sliding an arm around her waist. He hadn’t changed out of his Spider-Man suit, which she hoped didn’t mean what she thought it meant. 

“I have to go,” he whispered, after a few moments during which they stared down at their son, who was fussing around with his blanket. 

“No,” she said at once, turning to look up at him instead. She shook her head. “Peter -”

“I wish I didn’t,” he said, “but the others -”

“Exactly,” Cheri said. “The others are there, which means they don’t need Spider-Man there, too. Which is good, because _Peter Parker_ needs to be here with us.” 

“Cher -”

“Do not try to argue with me about this,” she told him, and she could see on his face that her tone had scared him enough into listening. To ensure this, she placed a hand against the back of his neck, keeping her eyes on his. “Tony is here, and you need to be here for him when he wakes up. I need you to be here, to help me deal with all of the people that are at our apartment. And Benny needs you here, just in case I missed an injury he might’ve gotten at the Tower when his stroller fell over, because you’re much better about noticing that sort of thing than I am, like the time he had an ear ache and I had no idea why he was crying so much and you just _knew.”_

Peter blinked at her, and she squeezed down on his neck. “If you leave this apartment, at any point within the next twenty-four hours without me asking you to, do not bother coming back, because I’ll know for sure, then, that you think Spider-Man is more important than your family, and I don’t want to be married to you if you feel that way.” 

There was a long moment of silence. Cheri kept her gaze locked onto Peter’s, who was either too afraid to look away, or unwilling to. 

Finally, he reached up, and pulled her hand away from his neck, holding it tightly in his. He brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. 

“Okay,” he said, softly. “I hear you, and I’m - I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Cheri offered him a single nod. “Good,” she said, shortly, and stepped away from him. “Do they need help out there? I can do whatever they need me too; I guess I should go tell _them_ that -” She paused, when she realized that Peter wasn’t letting go of her hand, and looked back at him. Peter tugged her over to him, again, turning her arm until it was up behind her back, and so that she was pressed up against him. 

“Pete -”

“You need to give me more ultimatums like that,” he whispered, “otherwise I’m never going to learn where the line needs to be drawn.” 

“Fine,” she said, after a moment. “Are we done?” 

“Fine,” he echoed, and let go of her hand, turning to look Benny over instead. “You doing okay, _mijo,_ hm?” 

Cheri exited the nursery, feeling a bit lightheaded, and walked back out into the front room of the apartment. 

“Peanuts, thank God,” she heard a familiar, albeit cracked and weak voice say. Immediately, she went over to the counter, and took Tony’s hand. He still looked bad, but he was _awake._ “They’re killing me,” he complained, tiredly. 

“We’re actually saving your life,” Stephen muttered. “Don’t be too quick to thank us or anything, though.” 

“It hurts,” Tony whimpered to Cheri, who offered him a weak smile, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, which was relatively free of any type of injury. 

“I was so worried about you,” she said. “You look like shit.” 

“I feel like shit,” Tony said, “and I need to figure out what’s happening with my tower, and my company, but these assholes -”

_“Tony,”_ Stephen interrupted, hotly. Cheri knew that his boiling pot of emotions was simply starting to get the better of him, but Tony actually looked a little scandalized. He leaned his head back down against the throw pillow off the couch someone had placed under it. 

“Fuck me, I guess,” he muttered. 

“Can I get you anything?” Cheri asked him, and then looked at Bruce, who was currently in the middle of constructing a cast around Tony’s leg. “Can he have water?” 

“That would be good for him,” Bruce said. “He just woke up maybe two minutes ago, so we haven’t had much time to check his comfort levels.”

“Which are very low, by the way, in case you were planning on caring,” Tony grumbled. “Why am I on a counter instead of in a hospital bed somewhere?” 

“Because we needed to make sure there weren’t any rib fragments floating around in your chest waiting to pierce your lung!” Stephen snapped. “Does that seem like an excuse enough?” 

“Stephen,” Cheri said, and the sorcerer shook his head, walking away from the counter. He passed through the living room, where Isabel was sitting with Ned and Harry. All three of them watched Stephen exit the apartment onto the balcony outside, and then Isabel rose to go after him. 

Cheri didn’t stop her, suspecting that her mother was probably the best one to speak with him, out of everyone present. She returned her attention to Tony, who was wincing as Bruce put the cast around his leg, his eyes closed. 

“Do you know anything?” he asked her, sensing her looking at him. “About the Tower?” 

“It didn’t burn down completely,” she said, “and no one’s died. Not… not yet. The news said that about 100 people were rushed to the nearest hospitals in critical condition. You probably should’ve been one of them, but -”

“But I’m here instead,” Tony finished. 

“Yeah.” Cheri brushed a hand through his hair, frowning at the cuts littering his face. “Doc, did we get these cleaned?” 

“Stephen was handling that,” Bruce said, “making sure none of them were deep enough to need stitches.”

Cheri didn’t think any of them were. She prodded at a few with her fingers, doing her best not to draw too many hisses of pain out of Tony. 

“Harry, Ned? Can one of you bring Tony some water?” she said over her shoulder. 

“Got it,” Ned said at once, and she saw him in her periphery as he moved around the counter and where Bruce was at the end of it, to get into the kitchen. 

“What about the bomb?” Tony pressed. “Any information on that?” 

“Cap said he was going to find out.” That was Peter, returning from the nursery. He joined Cheri at the counter, near Tony’s head. “How do you feel, Tony?” 

“Been better, kid, thanks,” Tony answered with a tiny sigh. “Why is Rogers in charge of figuring it out?” 

“He was there,” Bruce said. “Your ties to the Avengers are obvious, as are S.I. investments in the Avengers. It’d make sense that a senior Avenger would want to figure out what had happened to S.I.’s East Coast headquarters.” 

“I guess,” Tony huffed. “I should be there.” 

“You’re high on morphine, Tone. You’re not going anywhere for awhile,” Bruce told him. “There, that’s the leg cast. Let me get the wrist one done, now.” 

“Can’t I move to the couch, at least?” Tony asked. 

“No,” Bruce replied, lightly, turning his wrist a bit. Cheri saw the pain flicker across Tony’s face. She took the cup of water Ned brought over. 

“Pete, can you help him sit up?” 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, and he carefully got his arm under Tony’s shoulders, helping him up. Cheri then tilted the cup for him, and Tony thirstily swallowed down the water, eyes closing. He laid back down again, when the cup was drained, and Peter extricated his arm from beneath him. 

“How’s Benny?” Cheri asked her husband. 

_“Benny,”_ Tony said, his eyes opening wide again. He looked between the two of them, worried. “Is he all right?” 

“He’s fine,” Peter said. “Just overly tired, refusing to sleep. The same way he always is after a lot of excitement.” 

Tony exhaled, and let his head fall back against the pillow again. 

The wrist cast took less time to do than the leg one. Bruce was finished with it within ten minutes, and he reached for the portable x-ray machine he carried around, which had been developing the x-rays of Tony’s chest, Cheri assumed. 

“Good,” he said, after a moment, and she felt a pressure lift from her chest when Bruce nodded. “No sign of blast lung. I’m still worried about his ribs, but if he stays still, they should heal on their own in a few days.” 

“A few _days?”_ Tony admonished. “No sir.” 

“Do you _want_ a fragment of your rib to snap off and tear your lung?” Bruce questioned, eyeing him, and Tony did not respond. Bruce looked at Peter and Cheri. “We can get him out of here, transferred to his and Stephen’s apartment. It just… might take a bit, since we shot him full of morphine.” 

“Take as long as you need,” Cheri said. “That is the least of my concerns right now, believe me.” 

“Do you have ice packs?” Bruce asked. “They’ll help with his chest pain.” 

“I think we have two,” Cheri replied, as Peter walked around the counter to get to their fridge. 

“Ice packs, casts, morphine,” Tony mumbled, and then, with more volume: “Someone get Rogers on the phone!” 

“Stark Service is down,” Ned told him, from where he lingered behind Bruce. “We haven’t been able to use our phones since the explosion.” 

Tony exhaled a long-suffering sigh. 

“Here’s an idea, Tone,” Bruce began. “You let the morphine do its job, and go back to sleep. We’ll take care of everything else. You need to focus on healing.” He took the two ice packs that Peter held out to him, and pressed both to Tony’s chest. “Believe me.” 

Tony glanced around for a moment. Cheri waited, expecting him to ask for something else, and ready to supply it. 

“Where’s Stephen?” he finally asked, his voice lowered again, and Cheri glanced over her shoulder, so that she could see through the sliding door onto the balcony. Her mother and Stephen were still standing outside, and it appeared that her mother was doing most of the talking, while Stephen listened. 

“Harry?” Cheri asked, and he nodded, moving over to pull the door open, to summon them back inside. After a moment, he scooted out of the way to let Stephen and Isabel move into the apartment. Stephen lingered near the door for a moment, before Isabel touched his shoulder. Cheri saw him visibly sigh, and he walked over to the counter, pausing beside her. 

Tony blinked up at him. Cheri let him take his hand from hers, so that he could hold it out to Stephen instead. After a moment, Stephen placed his own within it. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered. 

“I know,” Stephen responded, just as quietly. 

Cheri got out of their way, watching as Stephen leaned in, resting his forehead against Tony’s. Tony tilted his head enough to kiss him, and Cheri was suddenly struck with the desire to do the same with her husband. 

She met Peter’s gaze, and, reading her expression, he quickly came around the counter to where she was. He slid his arms around her waist, and Cheri rose up onto her toes to meet him halfway, her eyes falling closed. Peter kissed her with extreme tenderness; she could feel him trembling a bit through it. She ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his hand, gripping it gently to pull his head up, so that she could look at him. 

“I love you,” she murmured. 

“I love you, too,” Peter assured. “I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Just hold me.” 

Thankfully, Peter was happy to oblige this request, and he pulled her closer again, exhaling into the hair on the top of her head. Cheri hugged him around the shoulders, wanting to stay in the moment that they were in for as long as possible. 

**6:32 PM**

Several hours later, Peter closed the back door, after stepping out onto the balcony. Tony had been transported over to his and Stephen’s apartment an hour prior. Peter had just gotten off a conference call with the two of them, and Steve, who reported that the bomb had been set by an employee. Said employee had been fired the week before, and had wanted to get back at the company. 

Tony had been horrified by the news, especially when he heard that the bomber had shot himself at his apartment. The police had found him there. 

“I didn’t even know who he was,” he’d said, quietly, after Steve had told them the whole story. “It - it isn’t as though employees are left with nothing after… after losing their jobs. I don’t understand.” 

Peter didn’t, either, and although he was horrified by how the story had ended, he was a little pissed off, too. He didn’t understand how someone actively made the choice to do so much damage, hurt so many people, before electing to kill themselves. 

The final tally had come in: almost 400 employees reported with injuries, 103 in critical condition. S.I. was going to cover the cost of hospital bills, on top of the damage done to the building. It was going to be expensive, and Tony had sighed when Steve had brought it up, hesitantly. 

“I’ll talk to finances tomorrow,” he’d mumbled. 

That had been the end of the call, basically. Now, Peter had come out onto the balcony in search of Harry. Ned was ready to head back to their apartment, and he didn’t want to go without Harry. Peter had seen his other friend disappear outside a while earlier, and he noticed that Harry was still there, leaning against the wall around the edge of the balcony. 

“Harry,” Peter said, so he wouldn’t startle him. 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, and Peter saw a small smile lift the corner of his mouth “Hey,” he said, turning back towards the view. “Sunset kicks ass, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does.” Peter moved to join him at the wall. “Ned said he’s ready to head back to your apartment.” 

“All right,” Harry said, after a moment. “Guess I better go in, then.” 

“Before you do -” Harry stopped turning, halfway, which was lucky, because this meant he was facing Peter, and Peter wanted to be sure his friend was listening to him as he said what he wanted to. “I - Harry, I need to thank you.” 

“Thank me?” Harry asked, frowning. “For what?” 

“Cheri told me that you talked her out of going to look for Tony, when you were at the Tower,” Peter explained. “I know she - I know she would have left Benny with you, so that he’d be safe, but I - even if she’d gone _alone,_ it - I still might have lost her, today, is what I’m saying, and I didn’t, because you convinced her not to go.” He reached out and squeezed Harry’s arm. “So, thank you. Sincerely.” 

Harry tilted his head, his smile coming back. “Hey,” he started, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You know that you and Cheri mean more to me than anything. Of course I wasn’t going to let her put herself in danger.” 

“I just… I wanted you to know that I’m grateful,” Peter said.

“All right,” Harry replied. “You’re welcome, if that’s what you want to hear.” Peter nodded, and Harry’s smile turned into a grin. “I love you, man.” 

“I love you too,” Peter said. He tugged Harry into a hug, patting his back, a gesture that Harry returned, before they parted again. Peter mirrored Harry’s grin. _“Now_ you should probably head inside.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. 

They both walked into the apartment, Peter sliding the door shut behind them. Ned popped up off of the couch. 

“Finally,” he said. “Are we going?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, with a roll of his eyes. “Excuse me for almost dying today and wanting to take a moment.”

“You were literally in the safest part of the building,” Ned grumbled, putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders and guiding him towards the front door of the apartment. Over his shoulder, to Peter, he said, “Cheri asked me to let you know that she was taking a shower, and that Benny’s still fast asleep.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, following his friends towards the door. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” 

“Bet on it,” Ned responded. He tapped Harry’s shoulder. “Say goodnight, Harry.” 

“Goodnight, Harry,” Harry said, mockingly, and Ned rolled his eyes at Peter, who smiled, opening the front door for them. 

“Night, Peter,” Ned said, pushing Harry through the entrance ahead of him.

“Night, guys,” Peter replied, watching them go down the hall. He exhaled, still smiling, and closed the door again, locking it. He lingered in front of it for a moment, debating with himself, before he decided, _Fuck it,_ and turned, heading down the hall. 

He paused briefly to glance into the nursery. Benny _was_ fast asleep, just as Ned had said, and the baby monitor glowed reassuringly on top of his dresser, ready to alert them if he did wake up. Peter doubted it, however, considering he hadn’t gotten his typical afternoon nap, and so he closed the door partially behind him again, and kept going to his and Cheri’s bedroom. 

He heard the water running in the shower as he stepped into it. Griffin lounged at the foot of their bed, cleaning his tail. He glanced at Peter as he moved across the room to the en-suite, before turning away again, disinterested. Peter nudged the bathroom door open a bit wider, and moved inside. 

The mirror was already fogged up, from the high temperature of the water. Peter felt himself sweltering already, just by walking into the humid space, and so he didn’t feel so weird peeling off the shirt he’d changed into, or tugging down his basketball shorts and boxers.

“Pete?” Cheri queried, blocked from view by the foggy door of the shower. 

“Yeah.” He stepped closer to it. “Do you -?” 

“What took you so long long?” Cheri interrupted, lightly, and Peter smiled, reaching out to open the door just enough so that he could slip into the shower. 

He closed the door again, once he was in, and scooted up behind Cheri, moving her wet hair over one shoulder so that he could kiss the other one. Her skin was warm, slick under his lips. He grinned against it as water poured down over them both, and he slid his arms around her. 

“Been a minute since we showered together,” Cheri commented. 

“Mm, too long,” Peter hummed, moving his mouth up to her neck instead. 

Cheri wiggled a little within his arms, pressing back into him. She let out a quiet, inquisitive noise, and reached back between the two of them. Peter inhaled through his nose and bit down on her shoulder, without really meaning to. 

“Ouch,” Cheri laughed, and gave Peter another reason to bite her with a practiced twist of her wrist. She turned around in his arms so that she was facing him. Peter’s eyes roved over her face, taking in the flush in her cheeks from the heat of the water, the droplets that hung from her eyelashes. God, she was gorgeous. 

“I think I remember why we stopped taking showers together,” she said, before tugging her lower lip between her teeth as Peter’s eyes fell shut. “We waste too much water, this way.” 

“I - I couldn’t care less, r-right about now,” Peter managed. He took her wrist in his hand as he shifted their position, until she was pressed back against the wall of the shower, and he was holding her in place with his body. “I -” Cheri gasped a little, when he grabbed her hips and hiked her up the wall a bit. “- need to be as close to you as I can, right now,” he finished, his lips hovering over hers, their shared breaths lingering between them. 

“I’m not going to complain if the water bill’s just a little bit higher, this month,” Cheri murmured back, holding onto his shoulders for leverage. She tilted her chin up, so that she could brush both her lips over his bottom one, closing her teeth around it, gently, just enough to tug on it. 

“That’s good,” Peter said, once he had his lip back. “Because it will be.” 

Thankfully, the baby monitor sitting on the bathroom sink did not go off, which meant they were able to let the water run cold. 


End file.
